


The Wall Military Academy: White Walkers, Wildlings & Wights

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Series: The Wall Military Academy [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Combat, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arya!Whump, BAMF!Arya, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Death/Carnage, Descriptive Violence, Drama, Family, Field First-Aid, Gen, Guard Duty, Hospitalization, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Improvised First-Aid, Inflitration, Injury Recovery, Jon!Whump, Language, Major Character Injury, Medical Administration, Medical Attention, Partner Betrayal, Partnership, Referenced Sex, Referenced cannibalism, Survival, Training, Trauma, frienship, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 105,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: Arya has been training as a Crow under Lt. Karl "The Skull King" Tanner's hard thumb for the past two-years. While out on a routine watch with her ex-partner Jon Snow at the Fence in the Beyond, all the little experiments on her Uncle Benjen's behalf start to come into context.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **A sequel to "NORTH WINTER HIGH SCHOOL: THE WALL (MILITARY) ACADEMY" and "NWHS:tW(M)A-INTERLUDE". Set in the same world and takes place two-years after the previous fic.  
>  The Ages are listed as the following:  
> Robb - 22  
> Sansa - 20  
> Arya - 19  
> Bran - 17  
> Rickon - 14  
> -  
> Jon - 21  
> -  
> Gendry - 21  
> Ygritte - 22  
> Tanner - 28**

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Prologue:_ —

_He had refused to give her a gun, but allowed Arya the machete. Tanner told her that she wasn't to rely on something made from metal bits, but on her hands, on herself. She'd much rather have the gun, it would have been easier, but she wasn't going to beg the man—especially when the Corporal knew the Lt. wouldn't change his mind—so she set to work with setting the snare that would catch them this evening's meal (hopefully)._

_They were at the edge of the Haunted Forest in the Beyond, the fenced in training area of the Wall. She wondered what she could possibly catch, when all the times that she'd been out here, she could count of both hands that times that she and Jon had encountered animals—and still wasn't sure whether the creature with the Glowing Blue Eyes she had encountered her first time in the Beyond with Jon, at the weirwood grove, was one of them._

_She'd taken off her thick, durable, lined gloves, and just worked with the skin-tight fleece gloves that were underneath, her fingers slowly losing feeling in the below zero temperatures as Tanner watched her with bland brown eyes._

_Though her back was to him where she crouched on top of the snow in her snow gear, she could feel it._ After three years of knowing the man, he could still make the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end with just a look, a breath, a blink.

_She finally finished with the snare, put her heavier gloves back on and brushed snow carefully over the wire to hide it. She then got a branch broken off from the lowest branches of an evergreen tree with the pine needles still adorning the twigs and carefully swept away and trace of her presence in that spot as she backed away. Her and Tanner carefully hiding away, it was difficult to be upwind or downwind of anything if the ground was level and the winds were blowing every-which-way it could think of with no concern for their empty bellies. She had planted some attractant that was sure to draw attention—but it was a waiting game until then._

**[** It was two-years ago that her Uncle Benjen, then Colonel, now Lord Commander of the Wall as of last year when Joer Mormont finally reached his retirement at the age of 68, after 51 years in service. It was him who thought this grand plan of leaving Arya to be molded by Tanner's hands only. She had long ago learned to control the fear that she felt for the man, wouldn't let it control her, stall her.

There were so many rumours and stories about her Ranking Officer, Lieutenant Karl Tanner—that it was actually a challenge to discern which were myth or truth. Even after training under him for a year with a partner, and two without.

All the information that she had gathered about him, via her teachings learned in the Shadow Tower under intelligence gathering, where still mostly unconfirmed.

He had grown up in Gin Alley in Flea Bottom, the poor and rundown underbelly of the prosperous and grand King's Landed where President Robert Baratheon resided over the Seven Kingdoms. Who could know what the then boy had to do on the streets before he was apprehended and made to run the APA course at the King's Landing Stadium. He moved through the ranks like thunder, and though he was just a Lieutenant, he was the one of the best Crow trainers at the Wall.

Having watched Tanner for the last three-years, how he fought in close combat, how he moved so silent, that soullessness in his eyes, how cruel he could be, and having found little to none public information on the mobile unit he used to run with... she believed that he had been a Bloody Crow.

The Bloody Crows were a black operations unit. They worked in the shadows, and there work was bloody. This was the factor that made Tanner make sense to her, made her listen to every command/instruction he gave her, made her fear him, made her curious, made her respect him despite herself—and made her question why exactly was it that Benjen wanted Tanner to train her specifically.

_Her breath clouded in the freezing air in front of her before being stolen away an instant later by the howling wind with every exhale. She didn't know how long they would be there for, so she made sure that she was as comfortable as she could be in these conditions because she wasn't going to move until something came into that snare—if she did, Tanner would shoot her on principle, and those were not sim-bullets in the rifle, they were the real deal. As to whether he would clip her or kill her, she was never sure when it concerned that man._

Three days, that was the longest that Arya had ever spent training in the Beyond for before, but now Tanner had taken her out there for from a week, to nearly a month.

_They'd already been out here for six days, and the teenager wasn't sure when this stint was going to end._

_She'd only ever been in the Beyond with Jon before, someone that she trusted with her life, and had—he'd saved her several times from its environment and inhabitants as she had him. It wasn't the same out there with Tanner as it was with Jon. How can she trust someone like Tanner to have her back when he'd shot her in it more times than once? It was such a tricky thing, balancing trust with her RO and the fear that she had of him—how can you trust someone you fear?_

What was the real reason why his code name was The Skull King? She'd heard the stories, the rumours on the matter. Years ago, when Benjen first told her that Tanner was going to train her alone, and she had tried to wheedle her way out of the whole thing, she had brought up Tanner's codename. Benjen had said: _"They're just war stories. We all have them. And it's not uncommon for them to be altered and exaggerated as time wears on and they are retold by people who heard them from someone and they from another."_ Arya had known her uncle all her life, and knew that he was covering for something and suspected it had to do with Tanner's 'supposed' Bloody Crow past—and she wasn't sure she'd ever find out.

_The sun was slowly but steadily inching westward as the seconds turned to minutes and those minutes were slowly but surely turning into hours. And she was starting to wonder if she put enough enticement at the snare or if the wind made the snow carry it off. She fucking hoped that wasn't the case because she would shoot herself with the rifle on principle._

_She had been semi-comfortable from where she hunkered behind a old, rotted, long ago felled ironwood tree, but even though most of the wind was blocked, the cold from the ground was seeping through and things were starting to fall asleep. Her body was immobile, but her mind, eyes, and ears were not. She couldn't see Tanner from where she was, wasn't sure where he was hidden and whether he could see her even though she couldn't him—it was an unnerving thought._

_By the level of the sun, it was nearing 0800._

_Her stomach was hollow. Her nose was running from where it was stuffed inside her parka hood to try and keep it warm, and she had to be content with little sniffs to keep the snot at bay. Her throat was dry and she wanted a drink, but she couldn't move and she needed to pee at the same time._

_She had learned stillness, and patience at the Wall, though at times it was against her nature. Sometimes she just wanted to jump into it head first. Sometimes, like now, she wanted to yell out her frustration. But she wouldn't and didn't, not after having waited this long._

_There was a crunch in the snow, and at first she thought that she was just imagining it. She breathed low, alert now, and heard it again. She wasn't just dreaming, something was coming. She kept extra still now, her heart pounding in her chest, her stomach wanting. She made sure to keep breathing as she had before, any change might scare that animal off. She heard the crunch of its cautious steps, too heavy to be something like a hare. She could hear it chuffing, even for the wind, smelling her bait._

_She heard the snare catch, and the animal make a startled noise. She sat up, looking over the fallen tree at the captured animal. It wasn't what she was expecting._

_The bull was a couple years old, just old enough to separate from its mother and go off on it's own. Though it was the same size as a horse, its antlers were just buds between it's big ears. The moose's big brown-almost-black eyes were showing white with its fear as it kicked and jerked around, the snare caught around the armpit of its front right leg as it attempted to life the creature from the ground without success. The thick branch in which she had tied it off on, creaked with its strength and weight._

_It suddenly stopped it racket as she leapt over the log and it scented her, spinning around to face her, kicking out with its front hooves. She watched it, making no move, the bare machete gripped in her left gloved palm. Tanner stepped from the shadows on the other side of the bull and it snorted his scent, angling its body so that it could keep both of them in its sights. It lowered its head, not a move of submission, but aggression, as it backed as far as the snare would allow. It's breath billowing powerfully from its nostrils, fogging in the air in front of its face, stolen by the wind and instantly replaced again._

_Both officers stepped up to the boundary of the snare and a little, the bull snorting at them. Arya looked at her Ranking Officer in guidance as he stared unwavering at the heaving animal._

_"Kill it."_

_She blinked, looking between him and the bull. "Kill it?" she was sure that this animal was just to big and would be a waste on just the two of them, but again, she had no idea how much longer Tanner was going to keep them out here._

The first thing that she had ever killed that was bigger than a rat, was three years ago. When she was still partners with her favoured Jon Snow and the two of them were in the Beyond for their third-year graduation test. They had come across a dead winter hare, its executioner a blue fox. She had hooked it with a lasso she made from their length of rope, and Jon finished the little beast off with the machete. She had assisted in the kill, but it was Jon that finished the job.

_"Are you hungry?" he murmured. "Earn your meal and kill the animal, put it from its misery."_

_Arya looked back at the big animal, her grey eyes narrowed, assessing. Tanner made no move to hand her the rifle hung over his shoulder and her hand tightened on the machete handle. She was hungry and this animal would feed them._

_She took a step forward and it stamped the hoof that wasn't caught in the snare. Its thick shoulders were thickly muscled. It might not have a set of thick antlers, but it could still easily kill her before she killed it. She needed to make this quick. Not just for the animal but for herself. She took another step, now just into the ring of the snare._

_Keeping her eyes still trained on the beast that had her well beat in height, she crouched down briefly for a fist full of snow. It watched her with big brown eyes as she packed the snow into a makeshift snowball. She bent her knees slightly, her thick booted feet spread to give her a steadier stance as she threw the snowball at the bull with her right hand as hard as she could._

_She was left handed, but Tanner was training her to be ambidextrous . The packed snow struck the moose in its pliable muzzle. It snorted hotly, shaking its head, its eyes flashing, and it planted its feet charging for her, its head down. She readied herself, it was right in front of her in just a few powered strides. It came to the end of the length of the snare, and she ducked under its striking head. As its body was jerked to the right, the branch holding it cracking loudly, she came at it._

_"Yah!" She let out a yell as she sliced the edge of the machete against it tendoned and muscled neck, using both her hands to put as much strength as she could into the draw as she passed by on its left side. She jumped aside as its hind end came at her._

_Tanner watched passively, his hood down. The beast didn't go down immediately as dark blood leaked from its open throat, it making a gurgling sound as it still tried to get at her in its dying breath. She jumped out of the way as it almost collapsed on top of her and as it thumped powerfully down into the stained snow, the branch tied to the other end of the snare finally snapped and crashed to the ground._

_She dropped to her knees as its dying breath left in one last huff of steam from its nostrils, the light leaving its dark brown bulbous eyes. Her gloved hands and upper arms had blood spray on them. She looked over at Tanner as he set the rifle and pack aside and came over to her, taking both pairs of gloves from his hands as he knelt in front of her and next to the dead moose._

_"Nice work," he told her. "Quick. Clean. Merciless." He looked from the animal back to her and she turned her flinch into a blink as he reach towards her face with pale hands, pushing her hood back and exposing her face to the cold winds. "Your first kill," he knew. He reached towards the opening that Arya had put in the animal's throat and cupped his hands at the still bleeding wound. It filled his hands, pooling over his fingers and staining the snow an even darker red around the moose's head and front legs. "One always wears his first kill."_

_She watched wide-eye as he brang his hands to her face but quickly squeezed them shut as she felt his cold finger tips through the warmth of the fresh blood as he drew them across her entire face, painting it red like a blank canvas. He withdrew his hands as she opened her eyes again, licking blood from her lips._

_His lips curved upward as he looked at her with those pit less brown eyes and brought his own stained red and dripping hand to his lips and tasted it. "And now your true training can begin." She could feel his satisfaction at her deed and felt the pride in her heart._

Arya had done and would come to do and see many things during her time in service at the Wall; but camping inside a polar bear's carcass, eating blue arctic fox meat raw, nearly drowning in the runoff from the Frost Fangs' hot springs, and being stalked by Glowing Blue Eyes did not compare to all that Lt. Tanner had done whenever he had taken her out into the Beyond to train—and that had just been the first in a long line.

　

_-tbc-_  
** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  



	2. Chapter 1

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 1:_ —

Arya finished reading the letters she had gotten from home in the sleep cell that she still shared with Gendry on the third floor of the Nightfort, despite not being partners for the past two-years, as she ate another of her mother's famous cookies.

It had been that same number of years since she had last seen any of her family outside of her Uncle Benjen. She hadn't arrived back at Winterfell City in the best of conditions, Tanner having shot her from the top of a wall in the training course Craster's Keep, and didn't leave her family in the best of conditions when she finally arrived back at the Wall two months later.

Bran had turned fifeteen that year, and that was the age every boy had to be to start running in the Athletic Proficiency Assessment course based from a Stadium that had been built in every major city since before even their father and Uncle were born. It was law that every male between the 15-to-18 must run this course and have the chance to be recruited to the Wall and trained to be in service to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros—it was just four-years ago that females were allowed to volunteer to run the course with the chance of recruitment, Arya had been one of the first to sign up, get the top score out off all the girls, and be the first to become a fresh-faced, green recruit.

She had been injured and sent back home on a months medical leave just in time to be there to watch her brother run the course. It was his dream as it had been hers to get recruited to the Wall and become a Crow. But that dream was crushed as he fell from a twenty-foot wall in the APA course and became paralysed. He spent nearly a month and a half in a coma and woke up to the news that he would never walk again.

She hadn't been back home since she left home for the Wall again the day that he came home from the hospital, but she never forgot what he asked her.

The nineteen-year-old corporal put the lid back on the container that her mother had sent, a few cookies still remaining. Whenever Catelyn sent her a batch of these awesome chocolate-oatmeal-nut-and-raisin cookies, she would always save a few for Jon Snow. He loved them as much as she did. She shared them with no one else by her ex-partner. She would have to remember to track him down after she filled her promise to Bran again.

She dusted the crumbs from her fingers and got out a clean piece of paper to write on and a black ball-point pen, and started on her letter to her little brother.

He could never become a Crow now, without the use of his legs, and he made her promise to write every chance she had and tell him all that he was missing. At first, she thought that it was a cruel thing to do, to write to him about all the things he would and could never do in his life anymore; but she discovered that for him, she was a conduit that he could live vicariously through. So, now, when she wrote to Bran, it was in a separate envelope than the letters that she wrote to the rest of her family so she could spare him no detail in the things that Tanner had been imparting unto her the last two-years—if Catelyn ever got her hands on these, the woman would burn the Wall Elite Military Training Depot to the ground and kidnap her daughter and hold her against her bosom and safety for the rest of Arya's life. That was the reason why the two siblings had created their own code.

Though she hadn't seen her little brother—who was seventeen now—in two-years, just by his writing she was able to tell that his state of mind was a lot better than when she had last been with her family. He had come to terms with the fact that there were some things that he just couldn't do anymore, but then there were still things that he _could_ do, all of which were against their mother's express wishes—so the young Starks knew they would be the funest.

At the beginning of Bran's new life, Ned had hiren a home nurse that knew about such things, to assist Bran with showering and such. Her mother had written all about. His name was Hodor, and he had been a male home care assistant for almost twenty-years. He was like a giant, big shouldered, seven-feet tall! He was soft spoken and had a gentle hand, easy to like.

She finished the letter to her brother, and then the one to her family, folded the sheets of paper and put them in their respective envelopes before sealing them and locking them in her drawer on the desk to take to the intake/outtake building in the New Gift later when she got the chance.

It was around 1300, and the only reason that she wasn't covered in nature, fighting to keep alive under Tanner's own hands right now was because Tanner was in a meeting with the Lord Commander, her uncle Benjen—they were probably talking about her right now.

She sighed and pushed herself a little from the desk, the chair legs scraping against the already scared wood-paneled floor, and hooked her right foot under the edge of the desk and tipped the hard wooden chair back on two legs. Even after two-years, her left knee would sometimes decide to become an asshole and give her trouble just to see what would happen. But when it did and she found herself starting to curse it out, she would remember Bran, and how he could never feel petty old injuries like these.

She gazed up at the old and cracked ceiling. The Nightfort had first been constructed thousands of years ago, and was the original HQ of the Wall before it became too small and Castle Black was built in its stead. This place was transformed into barracks, and of course, was updated as the centuries past, but it hadn't been touched for at least three except for the electrical and plumbing.

She wondered if she should try and track down Jon now since she wasn't doing anything, but didn't think the young man would been in his room, and she didn't want to catch him with Ygritte either. She avoided that woman whenever possible.

Ygritte... Arya hated that woman with an angry hot jealousy that was borderline unhealthy. But the teen couldn't help it. Folk had taken her partner, had stolen Jon from her and Benjen was an accomplice. Everything had been fine, but then her and him had graduated from third-year cadets into fourth-year corporals and she was allowed leave to go home back to Winterfell City for two weeks. When she had gotten back, Jon was no longer hers, but that woman's—who was taller than her, prettier than her.

Arya found herself gritting her teeth just thinking about it, and was disgusted. She was 19-years-old, she wasn't that flat-chested 15-year-old anymore. She had blood on her hands now, had no fear, she'd known Jon for four-years—she knew she had nothing to be jealous about, but she couldn't help herself, even now, not even when she had gotten a new partner. She meant no offence towards Gendry, but he wasn't Jon; no one could replace Jon.

No. She would track down Jon later, once she was cooled down after firing herself up against her own wishes. She came back down onto all fours with a loud and jolting thump, and tucked the disposable cookie container in the drawer with the letters for safe keeping.

Before she closed the drawer again, her thumb rubbed against the smooth grainy rutted surface of the antler nub that was loose at the bottom of the drawer. She flashed back for a moment on that time two-years ago, her first outing in the Beyond with Tanner, when he had her kill that young bull, the life leaving its big brown eyes as surely as the blood from it throat. She took a deep breath, remembering the warmth of its blood as Tanner painted her face with it, her lips ghosted across her lips just as they had a couple years ago, almost tasting the blood again. In her drawer was that moose’s antler nub, a reminder of her first kill.

One always wears their first kill, that was what Tanner had told her. To take it its soul, it strength. And trophies too. She wondered if that was why he was called the Skull King, because he took a piece of that from all his conquered targets.

She had never been inside his sleep cell on the first floor where all the ROs were stationed, maybe she never would—and therefore she would never see the shelves and shelves that covered his walls, all filled with the trophies that he had taken from all his kills, the pieces he had taken from his past victims while in the Bloody Crows... She let out a bark of laughter—at least that was what she pictured sometimes.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> Nightfort tower = This is the tower at the Wall that houses all the forth-year corporals, along with their assigned ranking officers. There is a small shower and toilet facility located on the first floor, where the RO cells are also located (it is mostly used by them/the corporals usually just go to the bath house in Brandon's Gift on the Eastside). [This used to be the main headquarters back in the old days when the Wall was just starting out, but it wasn’t big enough so the built Castle Black as a replacement.]
> 
> Craster's Keep = Is a small, laid out village that was built in the New Gift to do gun drills, such as infantry. Built in with board targets and soft targets, cameras, and a platform built above the roofless course for the instructor to watch the exercise.
> 
> Athletic Proficiency Assessment or APA = the physical course test that grades each boy in high school from the age 15 to 18 in order to see if they are fit for the Wall Academy, or other such professions such as police, fireman, athlete; by order of the President with the leaders of the Military since the Wall first became a training facility thousands of years ago.  
> ~ Three years ago, females were allowed to volunteer for the course and have a chance to be recruited to the Wall by a Wandering Crow.
> 
> New Gift = Nearest the King's Road is called so for the land was given to the Wall more recently a couple thousand years ago. It holds the parking lot, receiving area for new recruits, medical, in/out buildings and most of the on-grounds training facilities such as the shooting range and Hell's Lane.
> 
> Stark Notes:  
>  _  
> ~Despite the fact that Arya and Gendry are no longer partners, and the Bull now apprentices in the Armoury Shop, the two still share a sleep cell on the third floor of the Nightfort.  
>  ~Catelyn has a famous, awesome cookie recipe: it's a chocolate, oatmeal cookie with nuts and raisins mixed in, both yummy and healthy(?) (sounds pretty awesome, right?)[first mentioned in NWHS:tW(M)A chapter 7]  
> ~ When Bran turned fifteen two-years ago and was made to run in the APA course like all the boys that age, he was gravely injured and now has no use of his legs.  
> ~ Ygritte is a Wilding woman who had live north of the Beyond in a stretch of land before the Land of Always Winter, who came to the Wall and was accepted into service. Benjen had assigned her to be partners with Jon, and gave Arya Gendry. Arya has hated the woman ever since._


	3. Chapter 2

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 2:_ —

It was late when Arya stepped into the showers at the first floor of the Nightfort. When Tanner had gotten back from his meeting with Benjen, he sent her on a 20 mile run around the base. She liked to have a shower before she went to bed so she wouldn't have to have one in the morning.

She hadn't been looking for trouble, she just wanted to shower and then sleep, but it confronted her anyways.

The shower wasn't empty. Ygritte was there, too. Naked and pretty and Arya felt a sneer already starting on her lips, but forced it away. She was already here and the corporal refused to turn tail like that first time three-years ago.

She barely looked at the woman as she crossed the cold tile floor to the showerhead on the opposite side of the showers, but not before she flashed her those cold blue eyes that were reminiscent of the frozen winds in the Beyond and maybe even further that.

She turned the tap in the wall, lukewarm water hit her directly in the face. That was different about the showers in the Nightfort and the other showers along the Wall to the shower house at the east-end of Brandon's Gift; the water there was piped directly from the Bay of Seals and came out cold, but it became warm by the time that it got all the way down to the towers.

She glanced behind her from the corner of her eye as she shampooed her short dark locks.

She couldn't see any visible scars on Ygritte's body, but several showed on her own tan hide. They were all like a lesson on what not to do. The jagged 't' on her right palm told her to pay attention when cutting potatoes. The one on her right forearm told her to not be a fool and climb walls when there's an enemy pointing a gun at you. There was a circular one on her right foot that mirrored the top and the sole that reminded her to always wear her combat boots because rusty nails were out to get you. And one on her side that told her Tanner's knives were no joke; she had learned that one a painful way.

She wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by her body, but she never failed to feel like a old potato next to the Wildling-woman. She scrubbed herself with the scrub harder. She wasn't a kid anymore, she'd been doing this for four-years and starting on her fifth, but Ygritte never failed to make her feel that, too, without even saying a word.

"Whatcha lookin' at, girl?"

"What?" Arya was startled into speaking. It was just once glance, but the woman had sharp eyes and had seen.

Ygritte turned to face the teen completely, her hands on her shapely slim hips, not hindered by the fact that she was completely naked. The lukewarm overhead spray it her in the back of her shoulders, beads dribbling down the front of her body. Arya watched her over her shoulder, still. "See somethin' you like, girl?"

Arya's top lip raised as she scoffed, there was nothing about this woman that she liked. Half her family was born with flaming hair and point-blank blue eyes and she loved every one of them—even though this woman had the same features, what she felt was completely the opposite.

"Oooh, now I see it." She looked the shorter girl up and down. "The look in your eyes tells me all I need to know—jealousy. Over what I have; but of a true woman's body or... Jon Snow."

Arya couldn't stop her reaction. She spun around fully and snapped. "Fuck you, bitch! You don't get to say his name like you know him, you know nothing about him you Wildling W—"

The Stark never got to finish her words, Ygritte flew at her. Arya had only time to widen her eyes and start to raise her arms in defence before an arm shoved against her throat and she was pushed against the tiled wall, the shower dial digging into her back. She clenched her fists, Ygritte held her there with her right arm, so a left strike to face would be useless, so she would strike at the face and ribs simultaneously, but Ygritte could see it in her eyes.

The woman's left hand caught Arya's right before she could make a move, and when to strike her in the ribs, she put pressure on her windpipe, cutting off the air and the teen dropped her fist. She never would have gotten enough power behind the strike in the first place to make any difference, not with behind stuck between a hard place and a Wildling.

"No." Ygritte's eyes were like dry ice. " _You_ know nothing, Arya Stark. You ignorant little troll. Jon Snow is _my_ partner now, best you finally understand that after three-years. It's sad, the way you dote on 'im."

"Fuck you, you bitch." Arya hissed at her. "He'll never be your partner. The only reason your even here instead of a cage is because Lord Commander Stark thought it would be a great laugh!"

"A laugh was all I needed—just like watchin' you makes me laugh." She said, showing perfect white teeth. "You kneelers know nothin'. We were here first, not you. You can't go an take our land from us inch by inch, can't try and shackle us to your rules, and think that we will just sit idly by."

"If you hate us so much, then go back to your frozen wasteland. You're nothing but a bunch of savage beasts that deserve to be thrown out into the cold where you belong." Arya spat at her, the nails of her left hand digging into the flesh of the arm against her throat.

One side of Ygritte's lips turned upward into a smirk as she gave a dry chuckle. "Don't you worry yer little head, girl." She leaned her weight into her forearm, chocking the teen. "An' stay outta m'way."

Despite the cool water raining on them, her face was slowly turning red as her oxygen was cut off. She strained against the woman, but she was taller, and despite everything, stronger than her. Finally she took her arm back, and Arya gasped, sucking in air and then she just turned her back.

Ygritte slunk from the showers, almost like a feral animal. Arya coughed and rubbed her throat, glaring hate after the woman. She hadn't been expecting an attack, hadn't been prepared for one, though she should have; that was what Tanner had been teaching her over the last two-years. Never let your guard down. If he had witnessed what had just happened... Arya shuddered, just glad that he wasn’t here to witness the embarrassing act of domination.

She thought that she had hated the Wildling woman before, but now Arya released that had just been a disliking and disdain, and that this hot, cold, hard, still feeling in her right now was hatred and loathing. She gritted her teeth hard. She was going to kill that woman. The Stark wasn't sure how or when, she just knew that it _would_ happen.

—

She forced herself to finish her shower before she got dressed again and headed back up to her sleep cell. When she got back, Gendry was there, but as soon as he saw the look on her face, in her eyes, and had learned over the years to leave her be or she'd bite his head off.

Though she was tired, she laid awake in the dark of their room, her hair damp, unable to fall asleep for her hate and anger, some of it towards herself. She had allowed herself to be dominated, by _that_ woman of all people. No, Ygritte wasn't 'people', she was scum, she was the shit on Arya's combat boots, the shit that she scraped off on the edge of the curb.

She refused to let that happen twice.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **What do you think of the confrontation between Arya and Ygritte? What could it all mean? Stay tuned to find out; more chapters will be coming your way!**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Brandon's Gift = The section of land closest to the Wall was called so after Brandon Builder, the creator of the Wall, and section nearest the freeway. It held all the housing for the officers, barracks for the first-, second-, and third-year recruits [the fourth-year recruits housed in the Nightfort tower at the Wall in their double sleep cells/the partners from their third-year], the mess hall, the bathhouses, laundry facilities, storage, wreck rooms, and gardens. 
> 
> Wildlings = They are the free people that do not answer to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms or the Rule of the President. They are stationed in the section between The Beyond which is claimed by the Wall, and the Land of Always which has forever gone unexplored/unmapped by the people of the Seven Kingdoms. The are essentially a cult—a self-identified group of people who share a narrowly defined interest or perspective, outcasts, governed by their own laws not acknowledge by the President. They are strictly believers of the Old Gods of the Forest. Some Wildlings wish to enter the Seven Kingdoms and become permanent citizens. If some can not get through, they try to bypass the official process and enter the Kingdoms illegally, often times by boat through the Bay of Ice or Bay of Seals, bypassing the sea-patrols on the water and docking at the nearest ports that are lax in their checking of papers.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ Arya's always hated Ygritte. She was the reason why Jon wasn't her partner anymore, and after three-years, the teen still hasn't given up hope that one day, she will be partners with him once again. Now after what happened in the showers, Night Wolf isn't going to play easy any more.


	4. Chapter 3

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 3:_ —

The sun high in the afternoon sky glared brightly down on the fast moving pair. One tall, one small. Their sizes made no difference, not to the sun, and not to each other.

Arya blinked as the sun reflected off the polished steel of the double-edged 5-inch dagger as it flashed towards her face. She threw herself backwards, dodging under the blade, and twisted to the right. Her hand touched the dirt ground and she pivoted on her palm and struck out back towards Tanner with her leg, but he had already retreated 4-feet back. She kept her leg in motion and let the momentum carry her back around and face towards him again, with a soft grunt, her twin dagger held in her left palm at the ready.

Arya had always taken her training under Tanner seriously, he knew when she was slacking and always punished her for it; but now she was more determined than ever after her failed encounter with Ygritte in the showers yesterday—revenge did that to people, she supposed.

She didn't take her eyes off the pale, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in front of her as she caught her breath in a few breaths. They had only been at their close-combat training session in the New Gift for under half-an-hour, but he hadn't let up on his attack until now. Even after three-years under him, one with a partner and two without, half-an-hour was an amazing feat—that's how good Tanner was at this sort of thing.

He was one of the best in close-combat. Tanner loved his knives, as far as she could tell he had hundreds of them, most with different designs for their different purposes. His daggers were like an extension of himself—as Arya could attest to—but she was no slacker either. She knew her way around knives, guns, and anything else that was put in front of her, Tanner had made sure of it.

Aray watched him as he stood still, but it looked as if the cool wind was making him flutter. She thought the breeze felt good, despite wearing her workout uniform, a pair of shorts and tee, she was hot and covered in sweat from the workout he was putting her through. Her throat was parched, but she wouldn't and couldn't call time.

She realised too late that he had indeed been moving towards her; it was just so slow and with the sun in her eyes, she thought it was just her mind. He stabbed towards her torso, his reach was long and his speed fast. She dropped down onto her naked knees, jarring her left one, and threw herself backwards. The sharp blade had brushed the top of her skull, taking a few short strands of dark hair that blew away in the breeze as payment for her life. If she had been a second slower, it would be a chunk of her scalp flying in the wind instead.

He was already on his second strike, as she started to roll to her left, trying to get out from under his heavy boot tread. She'd dodged the physical damage to her ribs, if only by a hairs-breadth but he had trapped the side seem of her shirt. She tried to keep going, but he had her trapped. His towering body cast her in shadow. Her legs were trapped under her as he planted his other foot on the other side of her. She brought her dagger up slashing upwards between his legs—maybe this once she would get lucky. After three-years, she had only connected under 100 times, but that was more than she could say for Gendry, who, in a year, only connected under 25.

His counter was dropping to his knees—on her ribs, blowing her breath away—as he stopped the progress of her dagger with his own. It flew from her hand at the power of his blow, skidding across the dirt almost 6-feet. Two blades flashed as he brandished a second dagger from concealment on his person and pressed both tips to 2 of the 4 jugular veins on her thin and supple neck.

She instantly stilled at the slight pressure of the thin steel and he leaned forward until almost their noses were touching. His breath was damp on her chin as she looked into his dark-brown, almost black eyes. Staring into his eyes was like looking into a black, bottomless pit; it froze the breath in her throat.

"Death," he whispered, unblinking as he stared into her grey eyes, "is just something that you should fear _after_ me. _That_ is not what you should be fearing now. It's not as simple as that, for you—for us. We're not the same as the rest of them, they are beneath us. Understand?"

She wasn't sure whether she should answer him verbally, or nod, or even if she should answer at all. Her eyes were starting to water from unblinking for so long, so she did. Maybe Tanner saw that as something more than just an innocent action, he saw nothing as innocent, maybe he had been testing her and she'd failed by giving into the urge. Either way... She winced, feeling the burn as he pressed the edges of the daggers into the flesh on the sides of her neck, drawing them an inch equal both, making sweet drops of red blood well and dribble.

He leaned back, sitting upright on top of her and flipped the blades in his palms and concealed his daggers on his person. When he pushed off her and back onto his feet, he wasn't nice about it. "Don't ever let that Wilding bitch rule you like that again, it was sickening." He murmured.

Arya's eyes widened as she sat up, the cuts on her neck forgotten, looking up at the Lieutenant standing in front of her. How? How could he have seen that? She felt so ashamed and angry with herself. She climbed to her feet in front of him, ignoring her bruised ribs and the cuts on her neck. She narrowed her eyes into grey slits. "It won't," she growled. "I'm going to kill that bitch, just you wait and see!"

The grin that flashed across his thin lips was like a snake’s and would have made her shiver if she wasn’t so hot inside. "You're learning, I see." His tongue trailed across his lips. "Good."

She could feel the click of pride inside her at the compliment, and never saw the fist coming until it hit her in the face, throwing her back and to the ground. She cut off the whimper, turning to look at him with dark eyes. She could feel the hot throb in her left cheek, and brushed her knuckles against it.

"Never let your guard down, ever!" he spat at her. "No wonder the Wildling whore got you so quickly." He shook his head in disgust at her and started to walk from their training area. "30-miles, now!" he told her.

Arya got to her feet, feeling pretty beaten, but started off immediate at a run. When Tanner said _now_ , he really meant it.

No, she wouldn't be so reckless next time.

—

Even though it was just running, which she always thought of as a mindless thing for her to do, she didn't let her mind wonder as each step jostled her abused body. She had failed to listen to Tanner about her guard one too many times, and this last time was unacceptable; so she kept her mind sharp as she ran on a worn path around the perimeter of the New Gift.

She'd been running since the afternoon and it was almost sup. Her ribs ached as she inhaled and exhaled, definitely bruised from Tanner's treatment. She could feel her cheek puffing up and wondered how bad it was. The twin cuts on her neck, even without seeing them, she knew they wouldn't scar. She traced them briefly with her finger tips as she ran, and though the still stung, they had already stopped bleeding, her skin stiff with the dried blood. It was her knee that worried her. When she dropped down to her knees with her full weight to avoid being stabbed in the gut, it had really jarred her, and now Tanner was making her run 30-miles. She didn't have the thin, elastic material knee brace that she sometimes wore when she had to run long-distance like this either.

She picked up the pace. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and she wanted something before the kitchens closed, she didn't care what, just something to tide her over until morning.

There was someone coming up behind her, it was different from the other officers and recruits she had passed by. Tanner had told her to always keep sharp; was he going to try something, a surprise attack? They were closing in pretty fast, but though she was now aware, she didn't change her speed or stride.

She readied herself, now aware that it wasn't Tanner—he wouldn't have given her a chance like this to notice. But whoever they were, they were in for some hurt. When they were 2-feet and closing, she made her move, cranking her right elbow back with force, hoping to strike them in the face. They blocked her with speed, using their forearm, but she was already in motion with her second strike, twisting around on her toes, and bringing her fisted left hand into motion.

"Arya!"

His voice stopped her cold, her fist inches from his ribs. Her breath was heavy as she looked up into the soft brown eyes that so opposed her mentor's. "J-Jon?" She wasn't sure she was actually seeing him. It had been so long, despite being just a floor away from each other.

"Hey, what was all that about?" he asked her as she took her fist back. "If I'd been any slower, you could have killed me with that boney elbow of yours."

She took a step back. "I was training with Tanner."

She said it like it explained everything, and Jon knew that it did. He sometimes thanked the Old Gods that Benjen had assigned him under Qhorin Halfhand and not Tanner, when he saw the condition she came out in after one of the Skull King's 'training sessions', if they could be called that; and immediately felt guilty about it afterwards.

He looked at her now, and could see the truth of it. "He did that to you, huh?" Bruised cheek, cuts on the neck... and who knew what else there was that he couldn't see. He reached towards her face and she blinked as he traced the perimeter of her bruised cheek with a feather touch.

"Close-combat, daggers." Her grey eyes only flicked away briefly as he took his hand back. "Didn't land a single strike—but I lasted almost an hour before he took me down!" She grinned up at him, unable to stop the pride she felt, feeling it in the left side of her face.

"Only you could be happy about something like that." He chuckled lightly and shook his head, flicking aside a stray curl from his cheek.

She just shrugged her shoulders. "What're you doing out here, anyways?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He gestured at his attire; he was in the Wall athletic-wear, just like her. "Qhorin has me running 20 before sup."

"Alone?" she wondered, not jealous that he only had to run 20 not 30 like her. Where was the bitch? Arya didn't want to run into her before she had to.

"Yeah. Ygritte's been over at the Shadow Tower a lot lately."

"Why?"

Jon shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Qhorin didn't tell me, Ygritte didn't tell me—I assumed I wasn't to know."

"How very subordinate of you, Jon." She snarked.

He raised her dark brow at her.

She wanted to slap Jon for a moment in frustration; why did he have to be so _good_ sometimes? What could Ygritte be up to in the Shadow Tower? It was the main security/information hub of the Wall, where the Hawk contingent was commanded from, and the location of the vast Library. Maybe she could hope that Ygritte was thinking about leaving the Crows to become a Hawk—a girl can dream after all. "Whatever," she muttered. "Sorry."

The brow stayed in place a second longer before returning to home base. "Why do you hate her so much?"

Arya's lips twisted to the stupid question. Despite the fact that Jon was a 'gentleman' as he put it, he could be such a man sometimes! Of course he wouldn’t see the things that she did, when Ygritte used her body like a prop to draw the eye away from what was really happening. She shook her head.

"Run the rest of the way with me," she told him, ignoring the stupid question; one of these days she'd make him see—and then she'd kill that bitch. "I'm hungry and I want to give something to you."

"What?" he wondered, noticing that she brushed aside his question but didn't comment on it further. He knew that the two of them disliked each other, but even after three-years he couldn't understand _why._

"My mother sent a package and I got it yesterday."

Jon shot off like a bullet, knowing exactly what that meant. "Well? What are you waiting for, Stark?" he called over his shoulder.

Arya rushed to catch up, laughing. Four-years ago she had first given him one of Catelyn's famous cookies, and he'd been addicted ever since.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yay! Finally some face time with Jon Snow! I know, you don't have to tell me. What did you think about the fight scene with Tanner and Arya? I feel really proud about that; I was watching some “Naruto” and I got inspired with the fight scene.**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Shadow Tower = The post laid at the very western of the Wall. Command center for the Hawks and acted as the main information and security station of the Wall. This is also where the library is located.
> 
> Hawk = The Night's Watch camouflage and reconnaissance/intelligence gathering unit commanded out of the Shadow Tower, lead and commanded Ranger Denys Mallister.
> 
> The Library = The Library if located at the Shower Tower. It is mighty and filled with vast history books on all of Westeros and the Wall, and the Wall ledgers dating back to the start when the Wall first became a Military Depot. It also holds declassified mission reports/statements and such.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ Tanner's specialty is close combat, his weapon of choice, knives and daggers. They are easy to conceal on the body, and brandish. He first learned to use these when he was a kid living on the streets of Gin Alley, the under-belly of the under-belly Flea Bottom to King's Landing. He's kept up the practise ever since.  
> ~ Ygritte's codename is Fire Kissed


	5. Chapter 4

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 4:_ —

She couldn't remember the last time she had ran next to Jon, or did anything with him like this for that matter. The last time was when they were partners 3-years ago when all the did was go for marches and runs, go through Hell's Lane tied to each other and out in the Beyond to face death once more. She loved those old days, when it was just them—but Ygritte had long since ruined that for her.

Though the Wall was a military training facility, the food was expected to be bland at best, but Hobb wasn't just any cook. He'd been doing this for over 30-years and you didn't last that long around here if you sucked at something. Arya had seen the man cook, and what he did every single day was no easy feat—feeding over a thousand hungry and growing cadets and officers.

Today’s sup was meatloaf and mashed potatoes and collared greens. It was a rare day when there was any leftovers in the mess, and Arya and Jon were just lucky that they finished their 30- and 20-mile runs when they did, or they would of had to wait until morning to break this involuntary fast of theirs.

They headed back to the Nightfort. Gendry wasn't in their sleep cell and Arya was glad.

"Where's your med. kit?" He asked her.

"What?" she stopped on her way to the desk and turned back to him. "Why?"

He gave her a look. "You're a mess, that's why."

"It's just a scratches and coupla bruises." She rolled her eyes and groaned, unwilling to admit that the action hurt the side of her face.

"Yeah?" he stepped up to her and poked her in the ribs, it wasn't even a jab, a gentle prod was more like but she gave a grunt in response. "See. It's not just the face and neck, is it? You had a halt in your stride while we were running, and your breath was a little strained, too." He crossed his arms over his tee-clad chest. "Now sit down and tell me where it is." His tone brokered no room for argument.

And Arya wasn't going to, not because she needed her injuries tended to, but because if she let Jon get his mother-hen on, then she could spend more time with him before he had to leave and they wouldn't see each other for Gods knew how long. She sat on the edge of the bed and told him where it was.

He grabbed it and the chair from the desk and dragged it over to her before sitting on it. He put the kit next to her and popped the latches. He cracked and shook a small ice pack into coldness and made her hold it to her bruised cheek to get some of the swelling down.

He cleaned the dried blood from her neck with a wipe, and sprayed clear antiseptic on the cuts. They were already closed and scabbed over and weren't deep enough to leave scars just teach a lesson. They didn't need stitches or a bandage.

"There," he closed the kit up. "Your ribs are probably just bruised. Rest your knee tonight and it should be fine tomorrow, though you should put on the brace just in case."

"Yes, mother!" she laughed, the pack still held to her cheek.

"Haha, if I didn't act this way, you'd be dead in a ditch by now." He deadpanned.

"It's the only way I can get you to stick around," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. As a reward for your work, I'll give you a cookie, my dog." She joked.

"I'll take the cookies, but the dog can stay at home."

She got up from the bed, already her knee was better, and unlocked the drawer on her desk and extracted the disposable container filled with precious cargo.

Jon twisted in the chair and waited eagerly. Despite his full stomach, Jon couldn't wait to get his hands on those cookies. Ever since his mother died, he never got things like this any more, nothing homemade, nothing that had love in it like the cookies that Catelyn sent to Arya each month. Plus, Hobbs wasn't the kind of man to make desserts.

When she handed them to him, he handled the container like it was precious cargo. She watched in amusement as she sad back on her bed, the cool pack held to her cheek again. He cracked the lid and scented the aroma that still lingered and extracted a single cookie with the tips of his finger before closing the lid and setting it down on his thigh. He took a single bite of the treat, his eyes closed as he chewed, sighing in contentment as he leaned back in the otherwise hard chair.

When he took another bite, his eyes open this time, he smiled at her. She liked that every time he took a bite, his brown eyes would light up anew like he was tasting it for the first time over and again.

When he was finished the cookie, he licked the crumbs from his lips and handed the container back to her, still filled with four more cookies.

She looked at him in confusion. "Don't you want the rest?"

"Of course!" he said, incredulous. "I'm saving them for a rainy day. Hold on to them for me, would you?" He stood up and smiled down at her as she took the container.

"You're leaving, then?"

He nodded. "Qhorin might not be as strict as Tanner, but he'll kick my ass if I check back in with him late."

"Okay," she signed.

"Don't act like you never see me again." He said from the doorway.

"If I have these cookies, then you have no choice but to visit me."

"Even if you didn't, I'd come anyways, Arya." And he left her alone in her sleep cell.

Arya hugged the container to her chest and laid on her side on her made bed, still clad in her athletic wear, and balanced the cool pack on the side of her face. "You won't, not as long as _she_ 's around." She muttered to herself darkly.

—

More and more Tanner was in meetings with Benjen, and sometimes he would make her run, shoot at the range, or run Hell's Lane alone until he got back. Sometimes, she could run it four times before he got back, and though he wasn't there to watch her, he had a way of knowing if she was slacking off. And other times, he would send her over to the Library at the Shadow Tower at the west end of the Wall and make her study.

He never told her to study something specific, all he told her was "Know your enemy." She wasn't sure whether it was a test, trick question or meaningless; but she had learned long ago that what Tanner said was never meaningless. While she thought on it, she scoured the towering, bulging shelves of dusty tomes.

Though the Wall contained constantly training cadets and officers, the Library was a huge place so even if there were more than a hundred officers present, it could feel like a lonely place. Though Arya had always been one for action, she knew the importance of the things that she could learn from these old pages.

"Know your enemy. Know your enemy." She whispered to herself as her finger tips traced the fourth shelf from the bottom, it almost level with her shoulders. There was thousands and thousands of books, documents, ledgers shelved here, but half of those probably hadn't been read for a couple hundred at the least by the dusk coming off some of the cracked spines.

She stopped when she saw it, read the words on the spine, and blinked at it. It wasn’t dusty like the others, it had been looked at recently. She narrowed her eyes, biting her lip. Know your enemy. She looked around, but there is no one else in the aisle. She didn’t know why she was being paranoid about it. _Wildling Culture and Beliefs._ She pulled it from where it was wedge between two other thick tomes and tucked the heavy book under her arm. She found an empty, old wooden table and settled herself in for the long haul.

The thing about the Library was that you couldn't sign things out, all the books and documents had to stay there unless you were a high-ranking officer such as Benjen, or what he had been before he became the LC of the Wall in lieu of Mormont retiring.

What things could she find out about Ygritte's people that could be of any use to her she wondered as she opened the worn and cracked cover of brown leather that was probably the real thing, that she already wasn't taught and didn't know?

She started reading and in the introduction there was reference to the White Walkers. She had basic knowledge of them as she did on the Wildlings, but only basic; what she was taught in back when she went to North Winter High, and when she took the lessons here at the Wall for her continued education, but that was it.

She closed the book again and got up from the table, the thick tomb tucked under her arm as she went back to the shelves where she had first found it, and searched for another interesting subject. She found the book on the same bookcase as the Wildling one, _History of the White Walkers,_ but it wasn't as thick or dusty like the others, but more so than the Wildling book—someone had recently been reading this one, too.

She went back to the same table again, and resumed with the Wildling book, but didn't continue from her last spot. She flipped through the pages. They were old and yellowed, their edges rough, and everything in was hand-written. She could see the different hands it was done by over the ages as the book was added to; the smudges of the inks, the different colours and pressures. She could tell the newer entries that done centuries ago compared to the ones written millennia’s ago. There was different textures and colours as it came from parchment to tissue to paper, some wisped against each other as she turned the pages, others seemed rather brittle. The same went with the White Walker book. It was odd, she even found a page or two that seemed especially new.

She found herself reading those first, storing away the information before returning back to the beginning. Arya didn't know if any of this was going to help her, and she was going to have to come back several times to finish both books, but she did it anyway; having the information was better than not having any at all.

Her stomach grumbled, empty, and she glanced at her trusty watch with sore and strained grey eyes. She blinked, rubbing them and looked at the face of her watch again. No wonder she was starving, she missed out on lunch again! She didn't think that this was the reason why she was so short; even when everyone one else, both on the Stark and Tully side were so tall. She guessed she just got all the leftover bits from Sansa and Robb.

As much as Arya wanted to keep reading, her lower back was killing her from sitting for hours in this hard chair, her neck had a kink in it, the lighting sucked in here and the tight woven letters were blurred more times than not. She needed a pee break, a food break, and time to rest her eyes and actually absorb what she was reading.

She made sure to memorize the page numbers that she was on in both books, having frequently switched between the two, and put them back in their places on the shelves, making sure to remember their places in this vast library.

She wouldn't settle for cold leftovers today, so she headed to the kitchens. Afterwards, go back her and Gendry's sleep cell and hope that Jon might stop by again.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> PT Course or Hell's Lane = Twenty tires at the start. A 40-foot pit that had randomly scattered podiums the length of it that have to be jumped to with a surface area of 8x8 inch; at the bottom of the pit was slimy water, if you fell in, you had to swim to the edge and pull yourself out by a knotted rope. 20 foot high wall, climbed by rope. Once you reach to top of the wall, you're to leap to 5 horizontal beams 5 feet apart. From the beams is the rope swing. Then the belly crawl in a shallow pit of mud and rotting animal parts, 30 centimetres above you is real barbed wire. A 30 foot balance beam. Then a 5 mile run. All this has to be done under the time limit of 40 minutes.
> 
> Stark Note:
> 
> ~ Jon does tend to get a little mother-hennish when Arya gets injured, but can you blame him? He is her blood big brother after all, and she's his only family after Benjen that he has.  
> ~ Arya uses Catelyn's cookies as a lure for Jon; it's the only time she gets to see him nowadays anymore. (she doesn’t mean to sound like a weirdo, luring in the young man with treats, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do; ya know?)


	6. Chapter 5

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 5:_ —

The next time that Tanner sent her to the Library was two days later and she hadn't seen Jon since he promised her he would always come back. How hard could it be to see someone who lived in the same tower, one floor from her own?—apparently it was one of the hardest things in her life right now. She really had the urge to strangle the young man, but if she played into that feeling then she would never see Jon afterward for sure... since he'd be dead and all.

She distracted herself from the depressive thought with her 'Intel gathering', and made her way to the same aisle as before, the aisle of the W. She looked at the empty space between the two dusty tombs with compressed lips. Fuck. Someone had gotten to it before her, but luckily _History of the White Walkers_ was still in its place. She quickly pulled it and tucked it under her arm, least someone else try and snatch this one, too.

She found a seat at an occupied table and sat at the other end from the male officer, he was wearing a grey uniform like her, but she could see by the patches that adorned his uniform, he was training to become a Gull. He paid her no mind so she did the same, and opened her book to where she last left it.

The White Walkers were natives to the north most region of Westeros, just as the Children of the Forest were of the south, before the First Men arrived and decided to settle. They were a secluded race, savage to all others. They are a tall people, 6-ft +, have sharp blue eyes and blondish-white long hair. After the small wars between the Children of the Forest and the First Men with the Andals, they decided to invade the south for unknown reasons. The War of the Dawn was what it was called and it was said to have lasted a generation and a night, thousands and thousands were slaughtered before the White Walkers were driven back into the polar regions of Westeros. The Wall was built after that, as a defensive action in case they tried to invade again, but since then, they seemed to have vanished. But in preparation for another invasion, the Wall was transformed into _the_ Wall it was today. Towers were added and men trained in defence of the Seven Kingdoms. Explorers and Military Units had travelled in the Land of Always Winter as it was still referred, on expeditions to map, but they never seemed to ever come back; so they have long since given up trying to chart the area.

There wasn't much knowledge of this secretive clan, hence the fact that this book was so thin, under 200 pages, while the Wildling one had over 400 pages in it. The depictions of the White Walkers in the book were faded and smeared on wrinkled, yellow parchment, but still very discernable.

She turned the page and inhaled sharply through her teeth. Her heart skipped a beat inside her chest, and she gripped the edge of the old book with whitened knuckles. She quickly glanced at the Hawk-trainee, but he didn't seem to have noticed her outburst. She looked back at the open book in front of her as eerie unnaturally blue eyes looked back at her—it was just a drawing. She slowly let the breath back out through her nose and continued to look at the picture.

It was a depiction of the Glowing Blue Eyes being that she had encountered while in the Beyond for the first time, camping form the night in that small weirwood grove with Jon. She gave a shiver; it was drawn thousands of years ago and everything about the creature was faded into oblivion but for the eyes—still so sharp and painted with what might have been the juices of a plant. Though there could be no sameness between the two, it was just like she was seeing them for the first time again. So frightening and hypnotizing...

She blinked and shook her head, shaking the feeling from her. She took another breath and made herself turn the page. If this book had a picture of those Glowing Blue Eyes, then there must be something about the creature that she knew nothing about.

The book dubbed them Wights. There was not even a full page on them. They were servants to the White Walkers. Had deep blue eyes that seemed akin to there masters. It seemed they were attack dogs, and were native to the Land of Always Winter just like the White Walkers. And she remembered how it couldn't enter the heart tree grove, despite it being easily accessible—her and Jon would be dead right now otherwise.

She gave her head a small shake... Wights. She wanted to turn back the page and look at those eyes again, but knew it was a bad idea—it took all her self-control not to. She stuck her fingers between the pages to mark her place and got up from the table, taking the book with her. But she didn't go back to the bookcases and instead turned to other way, determined.

One her way out, she stopped at the front desk; putting the thin book on the raised ledge and laid her arms over top. The officer that had been there when she got there had changed-over since then and now she found herself looking at a round-faced, brown-haired young man clad in a grey uniform with Shadow Tower badges. He was heavy weight and the same height as Bran would be if he could use his legs. He sat in a roll-y-chair, hunched over, his head buried in a open book. He didn't even notice her standing there, lost in his own world.

She knew him, though she had never actually met him before.

"Sam... Tarly..." She said slowly. He was Jon's former partner, before her; he wasn't made for the life of the Crow, he was too soft, so he transferred here to the Shadow Tower and was put under the Master of the Books, Aemon.

"Huh?" he was startled at her voice, at his name. He looked around with darting, plain brown-eyes before they finally settled on her, leaning against the front of the desk that came up to her chest. "Y-yes? You... you know m-me, ma‘am?"

"Yep." She nodded and said nothing further, watching him with slightly narrowed grey eyes.

He got to his feet and shuffled over to her, nervous, timid. Her toenail had more confidence than Sam's entire person, and it was a big person. Jon had a soft spot and that was the only reason why she was sure why Sam had lasted in Crow training as long as he did, Gods knows that he wasn't recruited by a Wandering Crow, he must've volunteered. How Thorne didn't chew him up and spit him out?... a mystery—just like Chett (who had long since been put to hound duty).

"H-how, might I-I ask?" He asked in a stammering voice.

He was intimidated by her, but she was sure he was of most anything. "Jon."

"Y-you know Jon?"

"He used to be my partner, after he was yours."

"Oh!" he gasped, his plain brown eyes gaining a spark in them. "You-you must be Arya," he pointed at her, "Jon's talked about you."

"He has?" she asked.

He nodded his head rapidly, his chubby cheeks glowing. "All the time."

"Hm," a smiled flicked across her lips, it made her happy to think that Jon didn't completely forget about her.

"How can I help you?"

Right. Back on track. She was hungry and wanted to get this done before there was another personnel change and she got someone more difficult and less pliable. "I wanted to get a photocopy of something. Could you help me with that?"

"Uh... um... you're n-n-not allowed to t-take any documents f-from t-the Library." He stammered at her.

"They’re not documents, it's just a coupla pictures. See?" She stood the old book up from where she had it tucked under her arms on the desk and turned to the pages with the blurred depictions of the Wights. The coloured blue eyes the most prominent aspect, sharp.

"Aah." At the sight, Sam coward a little and whimpered.

She didn't react to his reaction because in truth, if she had as little self control as he did, she would have reacted the same. "So?"

"A-alright."

"This one, too." She told him quickly, flipping to the other marked spot to a picture of a White Walker that was far less faded and showed a great deal more detail. He took the book from her in sweaty fingers and turned from her, shuffleing over to the old photo copy machine. "Could I get it in colour-copy?"

"S-s-sure." He put it onto the glass and programmed the machine.

As she waited she filled out the sign-out sheet on the clipboard next to the sign-in clipboard. All cadets and officers had to, it was a way to keep track of everyone. The same went for the shooting range, Craster's Keep and all sorts of other places.

Sam finally returned and handed her the two sheets of paper, but kept the book, closed firmly.

Arya flashed him a beaming smile as she took the papers from his shaking fingers before she left, but by his deer-in-the-headlights expression, it might have been a wolf-of-a-grin instead.

—

Arya waited outside Benjen's new office in Castle Black, the sheets of paper carefully rolled and stowed in the large pocket of her grey BDU long-sleeved shirt. When he became Lord Commander, he moved to Mormont's old office, it was the larger of the two and who knew what else. Officer Jafer Flowers was still his glorified secretary and everything else fit the same except being on a higher floor and on the west side of the building.

She hadn't been ordered to Castle Black, but had made the appointment herself—and was surprised that Benjen could see her so soon; she hadn't seen him for nearly half a year now and he was allowing her just like that? She couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Business as usual, Jafer admitted her.

"Sir." She saluted and stood at attention in the room that was both the same and different. It was larger by far, but almost in the same arrangement as his last office; his desk was placed in front of the set of lancet windows that adorned the wall, there were the two armed chairs in front of his desk and a couch against the wall, but there was also room for a small meeting table that could seat six, filing cabinets and bookcases filled the space on the walls, he had framed pictures and metals hung.

"At ease," he told her. He was seated at the table, a small stack of folders at his side and an open file in front of him, which he promptly closed. He looked over at her, looking how he always looked, his long dark hair loose, a beard present, but more tired than when she had last seen him. "What was it that you wanted, Arya? I have been rather busy as of late,"

She nodded. "Thank you for seeing me so shortly," she stepped up the to the table and pulled the roll of papers from her pocket. "I wanted to talk to you about this." She held out the papers to him.

Curious, he took them and unrolled the papers. If she hadn't been watching the man as close as she had, she never would have seen the tightening around the corner's of his mouth, even as his expression stayed the same. "Where did you get these?"

"From the Library, I managed to get them photocopied." She answered. "You know what they are, don't you?"

"Yes." His hazel gaze shifted to her. "Do you?" It seemed that he was going to let the broken rule slide, for now at least.

"Yes."

"Take a seat," he told her, his chin gesturing at the empty chair across from him. He waited until she took her seat, setting the papers on the closed file he had been looking at, still not answering her question, the edges curling slightly inward. "What did you want to talk about?"

She sighed internally, even though he wasn't going to answer the question, she knew that he knew, he was Lord Commander, he had to know. Benjen was busy, she wanted answers—she burst through the bush instead of going the long way around.

"Four-years ago, I saw those same eyes—a Wight's eyes."

He stilled at this. "You saw a... Wight?"

She nodded. "I didn't know what it was called back then, but yeah. I saw it."

"How—"

"It was the first time that Jon and I went training in the Beyond." She explained, watching him as intently as he was watching her. "It was the second night and we'd made it to the Haunted Forest by nightfall and came across the weirwood grove. We made camp at its base and Jon woke me in the middle of the night; there was something in the ring of trees, something circling. And then I saw it, despite the dim lighting, my goggles... I saw those glowing blue eyes." She swallowed, feeling that shallow fear that kicked through her all those years ago, feeling breathless. Her voice grew quiet with the intensity. "I could see a shadow of a body, but that was it, it was the blues, it was so unnatural. I stared right into them, and it was like they saw right through me. I was drawn to them, couldn't look away. They couldn't seem to enter the grove, but if Jon hadn't had a hold of me, I would have got up and walked right into its maw."

"Interesting..." he murmured when she finished, leaning back in his chair, still holding the copied papers that she had handed him. She didn't say anything in response and instead waited for him; she could see the gears turning in his eyes as he looked down at the glowing blue eyes on the paper in his hands. "Were you looking for these?" he wondered.

She shook her head. "I was lookin' at something else, but I came across references to the White Walkers and found the book."

"What were you reading?"

"Tanner sent me to the Library 'cause he had a meeting with you, and told me to _know my enemy_." She shrugged. "So I found _Wildling Culture and Beliefs."_

"Ah." He knew she was still angry that he had split her and Jon up because and Mormont decided to see what would happen if they allowed a Wildling to join the Wall—if only they knew what he was learning now. He carded his fingers through his long locks. As time went by, things just got all the more complicated. Mormont couldn't have picked a worse time to have retired. "It couldn't get into the grove?" he wondered.

"No. It was like an invisible barrier. How is this possible, uncle? Wights haven't been spotted for thousands of years, not since the War of the Dawn."

"They haven't been spotted, but that doesn't mean they weren't there." He muttered to himself. He sighed and looked across the table at his youngest niece, calculating. "Arya, why do you think that the Wildlings are your enemy?"

Arya's first thought was of Ygritte and how much she hated that bitch, but didn't say it. Benjen was asking her a serious question and she would answer it in turn. She thought back to her encounter with Ygritte in the showers almost two weeks ago, all the weird things that the woman had said. She hadn’t really gotten passed her anger and embarrassment at being bests to actually think about what the woman had said until now.

"Ygritte." She said finally.

Benjen sighed in disappointment. "Arya, I know that you’re upset about my breaking your partnership with Jon up, but you're not a kid anymore!"

"That's not what this is about!" she protested. "Yes, I’m angry that you split us up, but that's not what _this_ is about." She narrowed her eyes in determination. "About two weeks ago, Ygritte and I got into a little scuffle—"

"Oh, Arya. I swear!"

"An _argument,_ " she corrected, she'd rather not have her uncle know that the Wildling woman had her beat, Tanner knowing was bad enough. "And in the heat of it, I think she let some things slip." And she told the man what she remembered.

Benjen's expression was stiff at best as he stood up, the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. _So, it's finally coming down to it,_ he thought. He turned his back on her, staring across his office to the other side of the room and out the lancet windows and into the afternoon sky. Arya watched his back with worry.

"As of late, the last three-years to be more exact, there's been a lot of movement beyond the Fence. More and more Wildlings have been seeking asylum in the Seven Kingdoms." Benjen finally spoke and Arya straightened in her seat, listening intently. "We've suspected something for a while, it's part of the reason why I allowed Ygritte to join the Wall."

"Jon said Ygritte is spending more and more time at the Shadow Tower instead of training with him," she realized, remembering. "She's not changing units, is she? She's doing something sneaky!"

"I've been having Tanner keep an eye on her, this last year especially. What she said to you, just confirms further what I already suspected. Folk is a double agent."

"Why haven't you arrested her?!" Arya jumped to her feet. "If you know she's a spy, why have you allowed her to run free around the Wall for such a long time?"

"It's not as simple as that, Arya!" he turned back to her. "Taking Ygritte out wouldn't stop the Wildlings from whatever it is that they're planning on doing—something that we still know nothing about."

"But you do! They're going to try and take the Wall, and get 'their land back'." That was what she said!" she protested hotly.

"Enough." His tone was enough to stop her from further comment. His hazel eyes sharp when he looked at her. "There are more players in this than just her—I will not incite a needless war." _At least not without knowing all the cards,_ he thought.

Arya compressed her lips in an attempt to hold back the words she wanted to shout at him, but she did. She stood there, stiff, and waited for him to continue.

He sighed, but his tone was no less firm. "Not another word of this, is that clear, corporal."

"Yes, sir." Her voice was hard, never taking her narrowed grey-eyes off of him.

"You're on Watch until further notice." He suddenly said.

"What?!"

"You heard me!" he snapped. "No arguments. I need you on the Fence. This isn't a game, this isn't a punishment, this is your duty, your service. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." She said through clenched teeth.

"Good. Dismissed." Arya saluted him, her expression tight. She reached across the table for her papers. "No. Those stay; you never should of had them in the first place."

She gritted her teeth, but said nothing, turned tight on her heel and marched to the door. She left his office and closed the door with shoulders stiff with anger, frustration, and confusion. Her mind crowded with swirling thoughts that weren't allowed to be voiced or left to form and complete before it was pushed aside by another rushing thought.

"Snow, on your feet."

Arya stopped and looked up at Flowers’ voice and the familiar name, and found Jon standing in front of her.

"Jon, y—"

"Now, Snow!" Flowers told him, waiting at Benjen's door.

Jon gave her an unsure and apologetic look before he stepped around her and into Benjen's office. She watched until the door was closed and he was shut from her view. Why was Jon there? And just after her own appointment, too? It always seemed to be that way. She would be called in and so would Jon, or she make an appointment and Jon would either be present or not far behind. She never really thought about it before, but now it was just too much of a coincidence for her not to suspect something.

Not after all that she had just learned.

_tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know all of you who are readying my fic are like "where the fuck is Jon? How come he's only been in like two chapters briefly?". *sigh* I know what you mean and believe me, I'm working on it. Just please be patient with me, for some reason I'm having a little more trouble writing this part unlike the other first two fics before it. But I promise, you’ll have all the Jon you can take soon. (I hope) lol.**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> White Walkers = A savage and secluded race of people that live in the northern most region of Westeros called the Land of Always Winter. Thousand of years ago, they tried to invade the south, but failed, and were driven back to their land and the Wall was erected. They have not been seen since and are talked of as a dead race. They are a tall people, 6-ft +, have sharp blue eyes and blondish-white long hair.
> 
> The Land of Always Winter = This is what lays after the Beyond (the fenced in training area), it is the land where the White Walkers came from to invade the Seven Kingdoms before it became the Seven Kingdoms, and where they were driven back to at the end of the Long Night and War of the Dawn, and have not been seen since.  
> ~ The Wildlings live in the area that is between the Beyond and the Land of Always Winter.  
> ~Any man that ventures out into the LoAW, never returns. Up until this day, the area still goes unmapped/charted. (LIKE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE)
> 
> Wights or "Glowing Blue Eyes" (nicknamed so by Arya) = These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the grove of the weir wood/heart tree.
> 
> The Weirwood or Heart Tree = The heart tree is a sacred growth and thing of worship of the Old Gods of the Forest. Long ago, when the Andals landed on Westeros and implemented their religion of the Seven, they tore out and desecrated most of the weirwood trees of worship. Few survived, all in the North. Now, in this present day, they are mostly depicted in history books and in museums. The Beyond is the sight of one of the last heart trees, located in a small grove stands a heart tree in the Haunted Forest.
> 
> Hound Command or "Hound Duty" = The Wall has a special K9 unit that trains hounds for tracking and attack dogs that can work in Night's Watch units.
> 
> Watch Duty = Sentinel duty in the watchtowers located at the fence that are manned always by a two-man team. It doesn’t matter if you’re a general officer, Crow, Hawk, Gull, if you are a few-years into your fourth-year training, then you can pull this duty.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ Arya finally discovers a truth behind the Glowing Blue Eyes that she first encountered in her first trip into the Beyond four years ago with Jon, when they camped out in the small heart tree grove in the Haunted Forest.  
> ~ Chett is no longer a Crow trainee, but was assigned to the K9 specialty unit of the Wall, training tracker hounds and attack dogs. (Fitting for the Pooch, huh?)  
> ~ Arya discovers some trouble news while in a meeting with Ygritte, but what does this all mean for the future of the Wall?


	7. Chapter 6

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 6:_ —

It was the next day around 1400 that Tanner told Arya to report to the Queensgate for her Watch Duty while he went for a 'meeting', she knew the truth now and finally understood how his 'meetings' with Benjen could last half the day or more and be rather frequent.

She waited in the garage in her full snow gear, having strapped her pack on the back rack, and extra gas cans and the other supply boxes to the small, open trailer attach to the hitch. Now, all that needed to happen was for her partner to arrive.

Watch Duty at the Fence was a week-long gig per shift. It could take from two-to-five days travel across the Beyond to get to your designated post by vehicle, made easier by the three different gates along the Wall. She hoped that she didn't get a dud for a partner, she was going to have spend an entire week huddled up in basically a hut the whole time.

She'd only ever been on Watch Duty once, and that was about half a year ago, and with Tanner. Spending week-long or more survival training exercise with the man in the Beyond had prepared her for a week barricaded with each other, but it had been no less nerve-wracking. At least when they had been training, they were doing something, not just keeping sentry next to each other. It was one of the more stressful things she'd done with Tanner—hopefully, this time was different.

She briefly toyed with the idea that it might be Jon, he had after all, met with Benjen just after her, but she never seemed to be that lucky; with her unluck, she was more like to get stuck with Chett of all people—life just seemed to hate her like that. If it was Chett—who her life had been all the better because she never saw him nowadays—she would kill him, stash away his body, and claim ignorance as to why he never showed up when the Security Forces came and started asking questions.

Benjen said that this wasn't a punishment, but it sure was starting to feel like it. She sighed and squatted in the lit garage to get more comfortable as she thought. Her uncle said that there was more and more movement beyond the Fence in the Wildling camps, and that more and more were seeking refuge and such in the Seven Kingdoms, but what if it wasn't just that...

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, her arms crossed over her thick parka clad chest as she turned her face to the ceiling, some of the overhead light leaking through her eyelids. _Why now_ , she wondered, _out of all times_?

She heard the light scuff of thick boots on the dirt packed floor and opened her eyes, popping back up onto her feet.

"Took you long enough!" she snapped. "Usually, when a time's given, that means you're supposed to be there at that time."

"True," the person agreed, finally stepping into the direct light, dark- and curly-haired, 5'10" and in white and light grey snow gear just like her. It sounded like he had more to stay, but didn't continue.

"What are you doing here, Jon?" she wondered, biting the inside of her lip. Was someone really on her side today? Her arms stayed crossed over her chest as she looked across at him with narrowed grey eyes.

"I have Watch Duty, just like you." He took another step towards her, his head slightly cocked to the side. "Arya, I thought that you would be more happy to see me."

"You said that you would come back, but you never did!" she blurted, for a moment shoving aside the more serious things she should be thinking about instead, but she couldn't help herself. She was so angry at him, but missed him at the same time—the two emotions mixed together was a rather confusing feeling itself.

"I _couldn't_ see you." He told her, desperately. He couldn't have Arya hate him, not _now_. "The next day, Qhorin took me and Ygritte out into the Beyond for training, and that's why I didn't come by! I got back yesterday and I was immediately ordered to report to Benjen."

Her eyes flickered across his face and into his upset brown eyes, he was telling the truth. She remembered the look he had given her before Flowers ordered him into Benjen's office. "Okay. I'm sorry."

He gave her a slow smile of relief. "Me, too."

She exhaled deeply, her arms dropping to her sides. Though it was colder in the garage, with the frozen Beyond just on the other side of the gate, she was getting pretty warm under all her thick layers. "Can we go now?"

Jon nodded and double-checked all their supplies for the week, tied a protective tarp over-top and took they map out of her parka pocket and unfolded it, laying in on the bench seat. They hunched over it with the compass and traced the quickest route to their destination, committing it to memory. Afterward, she folded it back up again and replaced it back into her pocket and made sure that it was closed tight.

They slipped their amber-tinted goggles on, pulled the protective scarf over their mouths and noses and a toque over their ears before pulling their hoods up, their thick gloves encasing their hands. They mounted the snowmobile. Jon took the head and Arya sat close behind him

He called okay and an officer in a parka of his own, came and pulled the wide door of the garage open with a heavy chain. The mean rumble loudly as it was rolled up and the engine of the machine joined in with the cacophony as Jon turned the key and rumbled the engine, letting it warm up.

A cold blast of wind hit them, instantly invading the previously contained space, tracking powered flurries in with it, making designs on the scuffs of the hard packed dirt floor. The officer gave them the thumbs up after he locked the door into place. Jon nodded and pressed the throttle and the snowmobile jumped into action, spitting out loose dirt behind them before he turned into snow when they hit open ground.

Arya wrapped around her arms around Jon's waist as he turned 40° west towards one of the trails through the Haunted Forest that was wide enough to fit the vehicle. The frozen trees flashed by as he weaved his way carefully and at a slower paces through the stretching growth until they broke through onto the other side of the Forest and into the open land of the tundra.

He put on more speed on the open flat land, the wind blowing straight at them as they sped right into it. Jon hunched his shoulders against it, the curved windshield blocking out the most harshness of it. Arya basically enveloped Jon's back as the vehicle jerked and jumped, her arms wrapped around his waist, her snow pants clad inner thighs clutched to the outside of his, her face hidden from the wind at the back of his shoulder. They sound of the motor swallowed by the howling arctic winds.

Their watchtower was on the cusp of where the tundra transitioned into the Frost Fangs mountains, 1 mile from the gorge, so Jon kept them westerly.

They were at the half-way point of their destination when night started to fall and they had to break for camp. Despite the high-beam headlight, the wind had picked up in the 5-mile pocket before the Frost Fangs, picking up snow and blanketing the air thick with frozen flakes that the light could only cut through for about 20-feet.

They used the extra tarp and tied it over the top of the snowmobile, making a makeshift tent that kept the howling wind and cutting snow at bay. With a flashlight lighting their space, they ate cold MREs and ice water from their canteens. They turned the light off, huddle together one the bench seat, keeping each other warm. They fell asleep, their breaths frosting in the cold, expanding through out the whole space before vanishing again to be replaced by another. They rested, until hours later, the wind died down enough to drive again after 2400, and this time, it was Arya's turn to drive with Jon glued to her back after they topped the vehicle off with some gas.

It about 1700 by the time that the Fence and their designated (50-foot) watchtower finally come within sight, having made great time, but it almost an hour later when they finally pulled into the walled underside of the raised tower where the second snowmobile from the officers already stationed there was.

The pair were greeted by the stationed officers at the lookout tower with relief and joy, the pair of older officers look haggard, worn, and dirty. They gave their report on all that had happened the past week (which was nothing), their own skidoo and hitch already loaded up. After making sure that Arya and Jon had everything in order, despite the late hour, they mounted their machine and speed out of there. The outside security was on, but it wasn’t long before the headlight vanished from view and the noise of the motor was swallowed by the wind.

Arya glanced over at Jon, her hood back, scarf and goggles down around her neck, deadpan expression on her rosy-chilled face. "How rude, they didn't even have the courteousness to help us unpack!"

His cocked a dark brow at her, his hood back, scarf around his neck, and goggles perched on his forehead amid his dark curls. "That just goes to show how wonderful our stay will be."

Arya unstrapped the pack from the back of the vehicle and they went around the side of the tower to zigzagging open stairs along the side of the tower that extended almost 24-feet upward to the 3rd-floor of the keep, despite the fact that there were 4-floors to the place (it was a security thing).

The ground floor consisted of the garage for their vehicles, attached to that on the western side was a kennel. The second floor consisted of a reinforced safe-room/prisoner-hold, that could be accessed through hidden trapdoors and such. The third floor was storage for all there supplies; guns, ammo, food and other gear. And the fourth floor was their watchroom where they would spend most, if not all of there time in during their week-long stay. Attached to the north-facing side of the 4th-floor was a balcony/perch that had spotlights and weapon locks. Also accessed from the 4th was the roof, via hidden holds in the wall and a trapdoor.

A set of stairs were built against the wall on the east side of the tower that only went up to the 3rd-floor, and it was from the 3rd that you could either take the hidden foot- and hand-holds in the wall to the 4th, or go through the hidden trapdoor somewhere in the room to go to the safe-room/prisoner-hold.

Jon went first up the wall to the watchroom and Arya came afterward, the bag on her shoulders. She took his proffered hand and he helped pull her up into the room.

"Home sweet home," she said sarcastically, looking around the 20(w)x22(l)x17(h) feet of living space.

The space was chilled and dimly lit by a single flicker oil lamp, and what beams of the moonlight that shone through the narrow lookout windows. A small stone pit lay in the center of the room, dying fire in its center (now those guys really were _assholes_ letting the fucking fire die like that and let the cold invade the room). Pushed to the side of the room were two old and worn-out cots that were theirs now, on the other a nearly the whole wall was taken up by a desk filled with monitors, the controls to all the spotlights, and on of the two crank phones that was their only way to contact the Shadow Tower if something (or whatever Benjen was nervous about) were to happen or the other watchtowers with their designated call number, Arya and Jon's tower being: Watchtower Flamingo Zero-Charlie.

"For the time being," Jon agreed. She set the pack down on the floor by the cots, it being more hospitable at the moment. "We should do a check and report in before we start unloading the hitch."

"Fine," she went through the thick, reinforced door across the room to the lookout balcony, while Jon bent over the monitors. The breeze instantly hit her, cramming its way down her throat for a moment, making her breathless, but she stayed her wear where it was and did a cursory scan from east to west before she bent over the adjustable telescope. It had several different settings, normal (like now), infrared, thermal, etc. She slowly scanned beyond the Fence (about 50-feet from the tower), through flying snow, for as far as the security light would allow, the whole 180°. Once satisfied that nothing was amiss in the night, she returned inside where the temperature was a few degrees warmer at most without the 80mph winds, now kindled fire and a frozen face.

"It's clear out there," she told him.

"On the monitors, too. I'll report in." He remove his thick outer gloves and set them on the desk, perching on the edge of the single chair as he cranked a charge into the phone before reporting.

After some manoeuvring, she found her watch under all her gear and sighed. It was nearing 1900, they already been here for almost 2 hours and had yet to unload shit-all from the hitch.

"Well, don't just stand there," he told her, putting his thick gloves back on over his fleece pair before standing up and giving his hands a clap. "Moving in is the part!"

"You're off your rocker," she muttered, and hid the small smile as she pulled her goggles up and settled the thick scarf around the rest of her face, the hood completely the ensemble.

"And you love me anyway," his own grin was consequently concealed behind his own scarf.

She rolled her grey eyes behind the amber tinted goggles and her hidden smile grew as she turned from him and climbed back down through the hatch to the storage hold, Jon quickly following behind. This was going to be a shitty couple hours—but not as shitty as it might have been without Jon

—

She did a perimeter check on foot, to the boundaries of the lights before she turned in and Jon took the official first-watch of their stay at the Flamingo watchtower. She'd taken a piss before she came inside, and after some shifting on the narrow cot (that was probably more narrow for Jon) found a comfortable enough position, tucked under a couple thermal blankets from their supplies and still clad in full snow gear.

She lay there to the sound of the howling wind, crackle of the fire, flickering of the oil lamp, and the occasion creak from the wooden chair where Jon sat from either shifting in his seat or getting up to do a visual search from the scope out on the balcony—all the while thinking about what Benjen had told her about the Wildlings. Jon had gone to see Benjen straight after her. When he said Ygritte' name back at Queensgate, he didn't act any different than before.

Her eyes slowly drifted closed, her last thoughts of whether Jon knew the truth or not.

—

Jon woke her six-hours later at the end of his shift with nothing to report, before he took her still warm spot on the cot. She went out onto the balcony, the security lights turned off, and her keen eyes scanning the same landscape in the light of the on-coming dawn as the ever persistent wind swirled and blew at her, trying to catch her, lift her up, and carry her into the sunrise—but she stood firm, a Crow on Watch.

7 days and 6 nights to go.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******* **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Huh, huh, what the fuck did I tell you? I did tell you, didn't I? More Jon, right there, you just read it!.. and more to come! Yeah!!  
>  Ugh, guys, I really had a bitch of a time writing this bastard of chapter, kept getting stalled out with our worst enemy: writer's block.**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Gate/Passages to the Beyond = Queensgate, Stonedoor, and Rimegate act as gates or passages to the Beyond. The also hold storage, gear, and terrain vehicles for the training in the Beyond and Watch at the Fence.
> 
> Watch Duty = Sentinel duty in the watchtowers located at the Fence that are manned always by a two-man team. It doesn’t matter if you’re a General Officer, Crow, Hawk, or Gull, if you are a few-years into your fourth-year training, then you can pull this duty. A week-long gig per shift. It can take from two-to-five days travel across the Beyond to get to your designated post by vehicle, made easier by the three different gates along the Wall. 
> 
> Watchtower = The tower is 50-feet tall in total. On ground level is the 'garage' to park the vehicles, a bricked in space with a sheet metal gate with lock, 20(w)x22(l)x11(h) feet, and a kennel attached to it. Above that is a fortified safe-room/prisoner-hold, 20(w)x22(l)x12(h) feet. Above that on the 3rd floor was the storage room to hold all the supplies; food, guns, ammo, etcetera; 20(w)x22(l)x10(h) feet. And on the forth floor was the watchroom, 20(w)x22(l)x17(h) feet, with a balcony lookout. There was a zigzagging set of stairs on the outside wall of the tower that led to the 3rd-floor and no further, from the 3rd you could climb a ladder to the 4th or through the hidden door to the 2nd; on the 4th there is access through a trapdoor to the roof via notches in the wall. There is a pulley-rig that can be set-up/dismantled from the 4th. And all sets of hidden triggers/passages and such. Power in the watchtower is run by wind-turbine/solar-panels, and has an emergency/contact-line to the Shadow Tower were something to happen, and trigger alarms for the towers designated 'zone'.


	8. Chapter 7

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 7:_ —

They'd already gotten into a routine just 2 days in, putting each other on 6-hour shifts consecutively; that way the 24/h day was cut into four shifts.

Every time before she hit the cot before her dawn-shift, she would walk the perimeter (on her 1700-2200 shift) before she handed off watch to Jon, but it was always the same, nothing changed… until her 3rd dawn shift.

She was in her full snow gear, the security lights reaching about a quarter-mile out on a regular-basis (it had different beam intensity depending on the watchtower's state of alertness). She had a small pack on her back, and a loaded rifle hanging from her left shoulder and the short distance radio that was her only communication with Jon in the watchtower in her parka pocket.

She trudged through the snow on a set of snowshoes that kept her above the snow that could swallow her anywhere from knee-deep, to burying her whole, as the wind whipped around her. She had a high-beam flashlight, adding to her visibility through the amber tinted goggles. Walking perimeter sucked, but at least it gave her something to do, unlike just sitting there watching the monitors. Despite the cold, it kept her warm, and let her think as her flashlight beam fought with a single-mindedness to survive in the darks passed the light perimeter.

She hadn't asked Jon or said the things that she was dying to, Benjen told her strictly not to say a word and she knew this was a time when she was truly to follow his orders, so she said nothing. Against her will, Ygritte was always lingering on the edge of her thoughts, if not invading them completely at times. This was more than about just Jon, it was bigger than the both of them.

She gave her head a shake and started walking again, not realizing that she had stopped. She had started her perimeter check on the west and was steadily making her way east in a rounded manner. Arya found herself stopping again soon after on the eastern side of the perimeter, but not because of her thoughts, but something she was sure was carried on the wind. She stood, the tips of her snowshoes grazing the edge of the light as she traced the beam of her flashlight through the darkness. She didn't hear it again, but was sure that she had the first time.

With her free hand she pulled her lined and warm hood back from around her face, instantly exposing it to the cold and harsh wind, but instead of pulling it back up, she exposed her ears from under the toque—hoping that the howling in the wind would take on a different meaning now that she didn't have so much filtering.

It was almost two-minutes later that the howling in the wind took on a different tone, a less Mother Nature and more animalistic. She felt a shiver go through her that had nothing to do the with harsh touches of the wind to her exposed flesh.

She remember the first thing that she had heard in the wind that wasn't the wind, back during her first time in the Beyond. She remembered the stalking creature that circled them in the weirwood grove later that night... Adrenaline trickled into her veins with her pounding heart.

She gave her head a shake, she was only thinking about that because of what she had dug up in the library, and then talked to Benjen about the day before she left for the Fence, it was nothing more than that. Besides, she should be more worried about the Wildlings than the long-unseen White Walkers and Wights.

She covered her ears again, and raised the hood so that it enveloped her head once more, protecting her from the cold. The flashlight still trained beyond the perimeter, she shrugged the strap of the rifle higher on her shoulder and extracted the radio from the protective confines of her parka pocket.

She was forced to pull the scarf from her mouth, exposing her cheeks, nose and mouth to the biting cold this time, and clicked the radio as she held the unit to her lips.

"Jon?" she raised her voice to be heard over the howling wind that wasn't alone. "Come in!" She pushed in into her hood, the hard plastic cold at her ear, just in time to hear the talkie crackle into life and Jon's faint voice come through the small speaker.

" _Ar... ya_? _Is eve... rything okay?"_

Arya brought it back to her lips, reporting her estimated location. "I heard some howling on the wind!"

" _How... ling?"_

"Animals, Jon, or something else—and they're close, I know it!" Her cheeks were already frozen.

" _Can you s...ee them?"_

"No. But can you turn on the spotlight and find me? This flashlight isn't doing the job." And she threw in her estimated location.

" _Al...right. Give me a s... ec."_

Arya waited what felt like an hour, the beam of her light only reaching so far into the dark, the tone on the wind changing for another instant, more clearer this time... closer. And then the darkness disappeared in a stream beyond the perimeter as Jon got to the balcony of the tower and turned on the spotlight with its strong and focused beam, and found her.

It surpassed the thirty-feet of her flashlight, and lit passed the perimeter about sixty-feet—that was when Arya saw the shadow fly through the edge of the beam. "Jon, I saw something at the edge of the light!" The adrenaline that had been trickling through her, now flooded her veins.

" _Don't move... I'm coming!"_

She waited, pulling the scarf up over her frozen face once more, and finding a way to tuck the hand-held radio into her hood and next to her ear so that if he called again, she could be able to hear it. She hooked her flashlight onto a clip on her parka, and pulled the thick glove from her left hand and tucked it into her pocket, before she shrugged the strap from her shoulder and settle the rifle into her gloved hands, her fleece clad finger resting on the guard of the loaded weapon's trigger. She didn't take her eyes from the outside as she wondered how Jon was going to get to her with the urgency she had heard in his voice.

It wasn't as long as she thought when he came up behind her, mounted on the stand-push-sled; basically a wide snowboard with handlebars attacked. It wasn't as fast as the snowmobile, but it was quicker than if he tried running to her on snowshoes. The snow-glider, as it was called, could also be pulled by a line of mutts (hence the kennel back at the watchtower).

Rifle still at the ready in her arms, she spared him but a glance before she turned back to the perimeter (putting the radio back into her pocket). He left the snow-glider standing on the snow where it was, before he quickly snapped his snowshoes to the bottom of his boots and trudged over to her in his full snow gear. He had another rifle with him, strapped to his back, his own flashlight clipped to his parka, banging against his hip.

"What's happening?" he asked her, his soft brow eyes narrowed as he looked through the lenses of his amber goggles out into hard beam of the spotlight that he had turned on from its mount on the balcony of the watchtower. The cold, snow-laden wind wiped around them; getting here as fast as he could under his own power, he had worked up a sweat under all his layers of thermal-wear (which was rather hard in these freezing temperatures) but whatever warmth that had provided him, was quickly fading.

"I don't know," she told him through the scarf covering her chilled face (still trying to gather warmth after its brief exposure), not taking her eyes from the spot where she had seen the shadow in the light. "But whatever it is, they're close—right on the edge of the beam."

They'd been here for a couple days now, and he already knew that the inactivity was driving Arya up the wall, that was why she always insisted on doing perimeter walkabouts herself and leaving him to the monitors more than half the time. She just wasn't the kind of person who could just do nothing at any point in time, it just wasn't her, no matter how well the Wall had trained her in that respect; she was who she was, buried under all the drilling.

He looked at her. "Arya, are you s—"

"Right there!" she barked. Usually, he would take her by her word like he did most everything—like he had the Glowing Blue Eyes—but she guessed despite themselves (and all to do with Ygritte) they had grow apart from each other after being so near each other for such a long time, but being so far from each other all the same. She was going to fix that right soon, starting now.

Jon caught it, just in time, the fast movement at the edge of the spotlight's beam. It could have been mistaken for the wind, laden with flurries, but the shadow, the movement, just didn't fit with that. This was something, a thing, solid, and on the ground.

"Did you see it?!" she demanded, finally turning to him in her feelings of desperation. "Please tell me you saw it."

"I did." He told her, turning his head and looking through the amber lenses into her own. He shouldn't of doubted her, and didn't know why he did. After everything that they had been through, the bond that they had built that was nothing like he had with anyone else before (not even Benjen). They had just been slowly drifting apart from each other, too busy with training to see each other but the lucky run-ins, but even those were clouded with something that he couldn't quite lay his eyes on. He felt the guilt twist inside of him, sure, knowing, that he was doing something that hindered it. But here, now, this week together... he promised himself that he was going to fix the space between them. "But what the hell could it be?"

"An animal," she said, and just to prove her point, Jon detected the added yowl that was carried briefly and then swallowed by the howling of the wind.

"But what do you think we're supposed to do? Go out there? What would be the point in that, they're not causing us a problem. We should just finish the boundary-check and head back to the tower." He said.

Despite the scarf covering her face as she looked out into the darkness but for the single strip of light, he knew she was biting her lip—because that was a thing that she did, when she was thinking, or troubled, and a numeral amount of other things, but even then, the action was never quite the same as it was accompanied by her ranging and fiery emotions.

Jon was right, she knew, but she couldn't help the wanting to check it out. Whether it was because nothing was happening (which she knew was a good thing, but couldn't help but hate it) or if it was because she couldn't get the Wights out of her head, she didn't know. She just needed to go out, to see what it was.

"We can't just _ignore_ it," she protested, "What if it's not just animals, what if it's something else."

"Like what?" He wasn't liking where he knew this was going.

She was silent, the cold slowly invading her trigger hand with just its fleece encasing. She looked down at her feet, at the worn-smooth curve of the toe of her snowshoes as it kissed the edge of darkness right in front of them. "Patrolling," she told him finally as he watched her. "That's what we're supposed to do. When something is doubtful, we go a cheek it out." And then she stepped out of the light-boundary and into the aisle of light.

"Arya!" he shouted, but she kept on going. "Fuck!" he cursed and started after her. What the hell did she think that she was doing? Something so reckless and stupid...

Jon was ready to give the teen an earful when she stopped at the edge of the spotlight's beam, her rifle up and directed at the scene in front of them; lit dimly by proximity to the bright beam, and he got his own rifle ready.

"Gods!"

The grey tinted snow in front of them was coloured with splashes of red. Blood. It was blood that led to four dark shadows that lay still in the snow, drifts slowly by surely forming around them.

Jon unclipped his flashlight and purposefully directed the beam, lighting a small section of the dimness as he traced the scene with it. "Wolves." He muttered. "They're all wolves."

They stepped from the invisible shield of the light without verbal communication, Arya's own beam flashing from where it still hung from the clip—no way was she putting her gun down until she knew for sure that they were all dead. It wouldn't due if one was just playing possum and ripped one of their arms off.

"What the hell happened?" she wondered.

"Hey, these three are grey, but that one in the middle is white." he pointed out.

"So,"

"I don't think that another animal did this to them," he said after a moment of thought, just a few feet from one of the grey wolves; his thoughts more on the flashlight than his rifle. "I think they did it to themselves."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. I've never really seen a wolf up close like this before, but I don't think that they're supposed to be this skinny."

"Your saying they tried to _eat_ each other?!" she said, incredulous.

"Yeah," he nodded glancing over at her for a moment before looking at the display of the bodies again. "I think that these three grey ones ganged up on the albino, though he looks a bit bigger than the others, maybe they thought they could take him if they ganged up."

"Well, that worked out really well for them all, didn't it." She noted sarcastically.

"I guess it didn't," he agreed and crouched down on his hunches, glancing from the grey one just feet in front of him, then at the white one that lay less than 10-feet away—and froze still.

It took a second for Arya to notice. "Jon?" She lifted the barrel of her rifle.

"The albino one is still alive," he muttered.

"What!" she shifted her stance, aimed for the white mass blotched with red, her finger on the trigger, her finger muscles bunched and in the motion of pulling it. Adrenaline making her hot under her layers.

"No!" the sharp tone in his voice froze her achingly cold finger.

"What'd'ya mean?" she finally saw the wolf moving back into consciousness, driven there by their voices and wondered why she hadn't shot it dead yet.

"We can't kill it," he told her, never taking his gaze from the bloodied wolf.

"Yes, we can!" she insisted as a low grumbling over-took the conversation, like a lower-tone snowmobile engine. "Get back, Jon!"

"Give me your pack," he told her. "Slowly."

"Are you out of your mind?!" she demanded. What the hell could he want with the pack?

"Just do it." He ordered.

Arya gritted her teeth, looking between Jon and the wolf. What the fuck was he up to? If she wanted to find out, she would have to continue to hold back her trigger finger and give him the pack. She didn't have a good feeling about this, but she did it anyways against her better judgement. Still training the rifle at ever waking wolf, she shrugged the straps of her pack from her shoulders one at a time, and handed it off to Jon who was about as far from her as he was from the albino wolf.

Still keeping his eye on the wolf, the butt of his rifle planted in the snow and leaning against his side, he dug around in the pack as the animal finally started to pull itself together and rise from where it was a quarter buried under the snow.

"Jon!" she hissed through gritted teeth and scarf as she saw the albino's eyes flash red in the beam of the flashlight as it staggered on its paws, the growl rumbling in its chest.

He slowly pulled a small package from the pack and after a second she recognized it. She had packed a little something that she had managed to get a hold of on the short notice of Watch Duty so that she wouldn't have to suffer through MREs for a whole week, three-times a day. It was a already opened pack of maple smoked elk jerky.

The wind wiped at its thick, blood-matted fur around it shoulders. Maybe it wasn't as injured as they had first suspected and most of the blood on the animal was not its own. This animal was powerful, taking out three of its brother as they attacked it at the same time.

He reopened the sealed package and extracted a piece with slow deliberate moves and extended his arm towards the wolf as its red-rimed lips peeled back to reveal large, pointed fangs.

She was tense. Gods! why wasn't he just letting her shoot the creature? Did he want to die? To be devoured by this fierce creature? Was he sleep deprived and not understanding that what he was doing was completely insane?!

"Please don't feed the animals." It sounded like a joke, but it wasn't—she really wished that he wasn't trying to give that white wolf a piece of her precious and scarce elk jerky.

"Shhh," he muttered out the side of his mouth at her, never taking his eyes from the growling wolf in front of him as he let the piece of jerky hang between him and the injured animal.

Arya did, but only because she was afraid that her voice might make the wolf leap into action and tear her best-friend’s throat out before she could get a shot off.

"Come on, Ghost." He whispered, giving the wild animal a name. She supposed because it was white and would have almost blended in with the snow seamlessly if it were for all the blood. Already he was growing to attached.

Now she was wishing that she had just listened to him in the first place, and just finished the patrol inside the boundary of the security light and left it at that.

It black nose twitched, even though it didn't take its gaze from Jon or her, scenting the faint aroma of the jerky that he had proffered—or maybe it was smelling Jon.

"It's okay, boy; we're not going to hurt you. I bet you’re hungry..." His tone was soft and inviting, encouraging. "Arya, put the gun down."

"No fucking way in hell." Her tone matched his, but she knew he caught her true tone anyway. Ghost’s pointed ears flickered at the sound on their voices.

A small sigh escaped his lips, she couldn't hear it, but saw it from the way his shoulders moved. Ghost had inched closer, drawn by the scent of food despite its offensive/defensive manner. It must really be hungry like Jon had said—they had to be if they were attacking each other.

She swallowed, the action hidden under the lined collar of her zipped parka. The albino had finally reach Jon's outstretched arm, it black nose taking closer attention to the jerky, and Jon's smell too she was sure, before its bright pink tongue appeared between its teeth and took the jerky into it mouth. He willingly released it, and she let out a brief breath of relief that it didn't bite his fingers off, too—though there was still time for that if he intended to keep putting them where they didn't belong.

Ghost finally finished chewing and Jon slowly started to reach for another piece when the dark lips snapped back from sharp teeth and a threatening growl escaped as it took a step back.

He strated to bring the jerky package up, but the wolf didn't take to the movement kindly, snapped at Jon and just as Arya was about to pull the trigger (knowing that at this distance she could kill the animal before it hopefully could tear Jon’s entire handsome face off hidden beneath the scarf), but it was off like a rocket in an instant, vanishing into the dark night like, well, like a ghost.

The barrel of her rifle followed the animal, but it was no use, and after a moment she turned her attention back to her partner. "Jon!" she rushed the short distance to him as he sat back heavily onto his arse his breath coming out heavy and shaking as she dropped to his side. "Jon?"

"I'm—I'm okay." He told her.

"You fucking better be!" she shouted at him, welling tears making her vision of him through the goggles blurry.

He looked at her. "Arya—"

She pulled her goggles and scarf down around her neck. "No! You don't get to sound like that after doing something like that." She told him, her rifle at her knees. "How could you do something so stupid and reckless?" she smacked his chest with a closed fist. "What were you thinking?!"

He grabbed her wrist when she seemed about to hit him again and pulled his own goggles and scarf down. "I don't know," he admitted. "It was just a feeling that I had—like you wanting to come out here."

"That's not the same!" she said. "You practically laid yourself out for that wolf, an apple in you mouth. I can't believe you did that!" She climbed to her feet and glared down at him, the rifle held in her hands.

"Arya, I sorry!" he got to his feet as well.

"I don't want to hear it and I don't forgive you. We're going back to the tower!" she told him, and had to turn away from him. She didn't want him to see her fight the tears away, angry and scared.

Jon grabbed the pack and the rifle and followed behind her into the beam of the spotlight once more, but not before he shot a glance back over his shoulder and into the dimness where the three bodies lay, and further than that into the darkness where Ghost had vanished. He really hated that Arya was so upset with him, but he knew that he had to do what he did, even though he didn't know why.

He tried to apologize to her on there way back to the tower, both on the snow-glider, but she shut him down every time.

—

"Arya—" Jon tried again, when they finally arrived back at the tower and were in the warmer temperature of the watch room; the fire having died down after not being tended for so long but at least it was still burning and hadn’t gone out completely.

She stopped whatever he was about to say as she spun on her heel and gave him a fierce hug.

She had nearly lost him.

"Don't do that ever again!" she told him. "Or I swear to the Old Gods I'll kill you myself!"

"I won't," he promised feverously, wrapping his arms around her slimmer form. "I promise."

"I don't know what I would do without you, Jon." She muttered. "So please don't make me have to find out." She slowly pulled back from him. "I'm supposed to be the reckless one, not you."

"Usually," he agreed. "But you can't go get yourself killed either."

"I promise," she agreed—though neither of them were sure that they could keep it, expected never happened in the Beyond, only ever the unexpected.

—

Nothing had changed since their arrival except that she had been sick of the MREs since day one (Jon having forgotten her jerky back with the three dead wolves days ago), wanted to be able go to the bathroom without her vagina nearly getting frostbite every time (she was sure that Jon felt the same on both accounts but on the latter it was his respective parts instead). Just one more night and they'd finally be done with this shit after a 2-to-3 day snowmobile ride back to the Wall and all its comforts [a real meal and hot shower being on the top of the list].

_tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******* **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For some reason, this chapter came through me rather quick, in under eight hours writing off-and-on. I only ever get to write a night, between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 3:00 a.m. Hope to hear your thoughts, what'd you think about the inclusion of Ghost?**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
> ~ Jon: 2300-0400 {Arya-sleeps}, Arya: 0500-1000 {Jon-sleeps}, Jon: 1100-1600, Arya: 1700-2200  
> ~ Ghost is a albino, lone-wolf, that found its way into the Beyond while fleeing from another pack of grey wolves that were hunting it for food. It was injured, but Jon treated it against Arya's advice, before it took off again.  
> ~ Arya likes maple smoked elk jerky.


	9. Chapter 8

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 8:_ —

It was their last day at Watchtower Flamingo and since the encounter with the albino wolf Ghost, Arya and Jon had encountered nothing adrenaline-rousing like it again.

Ground patrols produced nothing out of the ordinary, though she always found herself pausing at the same place in the light-boundary with a bit of curiously and bit of nervousness that the albino might come back, striking from the darkness that her flashlight feebly tried to hold at bay. She often wondered, and she was sure that Jon did, too, about the three dead grey wolves. Did Ghost come back and devour his kin? Or did some other carnivorous animal stake their claim over the surely frozen meat?

It was several hours yet before their relief was do to arrive, but they already had their things packed in the hitch parked in the below garage along with the topped-off snowmobile in an act of optimism.

Arya was out on the balcony in the waning daylight, bent over the telescope, but it wasn't directed towards the extended white tundra beyond the Fence, but was pointed upwards towards the sky.

The cloud was chock full of thick rolling clouds that attempted to snuff out the sun, and the wind was really doing its damnedest to slam her back against the wall.

"Hey!" Jon came out, pulling the scarf from his face as the wind tried to choke him with it and stood at the railing next to her. She stood up, her scarf around her throat and looked over at him. "What?"

"There's totally a storm coming in," she complained. "It's going to be a bitch getting back."

He looked up at the sky and the ever-darkening grey cloud, only able to make out a dime illumination of the sun behind them. "It hasn't reached us yet, maybe it'll blow through before it reaches us."

She bit her lip. "I hope you're right," she sighed, but she didn't sound convinced.

"Come inside. It's not like you can scare it away with dirty looks." He mused, smirking as she turned her narrowed eyes at him.

"A girl can try," but she followed him inside anyways. "Everything ready?" she asked, squatting by the fire that had been going since they'd gotten there.

"Yeah. I just came from there and everything's secure." He squatted next to her.

"Tight enough to weather a storm?" she joked.

"So funny," he agreed, smiling as she made a face at him.

Arya was about to make a dry remark when she was interrupted by a buzz that startled them both. The pair turned and looked over at the electronically laden desk. "The phone?"

"It seems," he went over and picked up the crank phone, pushing his hood down and pressing the receiver to his ear. "Watchtower Flamingo Zero-Charlie." He answered as Arya came over with sans her goggles and hood as well, and stood close next to him. He cocked the phone so that they could hear the voice crackle through from the other end.

"Watchtower Flam... ingo Zero-Charlie, this is Shadow To... wer Base. We have in-coming reports of a stor... m front that will pace over you... lasting for approximately the 72-hours. Orders a... re: Stay at post until a unit c... an make it out there and relieve... you. Do you copy, Fla... mingo Zero-Charlie."

"Flamingo Zero-Charlie copies order, sir." Jon replied, subdued into the mouth piece as Arya gritted her teeth to keep from saying what she really wanted to. "Ride out storm. Stay at post until relief unit comes. Orders received and acknowledged, sir."

"Roger, Watchtower Fla... mingo Zero-Charlie. Communicati… ons may collapse during storm, co... py?"

"10-4, sir." Arya gave him a look and he shrugged in return.

" _Shadow T... ower Base, Over and Out."_

"Watchtower Falmingo Zero-Charlie, Over and Out." Jon sighed as he put the receiver back into the battery and crank body.

"So, we're stuck in this dump for another three days?" Arya demanded.

"Those are our orders."

"This blows!" she exclaimed. "Do we even have enough supplies for that?"

"I checked everything and we do, thankfully." He pulled his hood, and goggles back into place. "Now all he have to do is haul everything back into storage before this storm comes."

"Like I said, it fucking blows!" She grumbled.

He grinned. "Well, you didn't say it exactly like that."

"Wipe that smile off," she glared. "This fucking blows and you know it!"

"Alright, it does blow." He agreed. "And see, the smiles gone." He pulled his scarf back up, covering his face.

She gave his a sour expression and covered her own face with her gear, knowing full well that the grin was still there. Jon climbed through the trap door on the floor down to storage hold first and she stuck her tongue out at him where he couldn't see it.

"And don't think I don't know what you're doing right now!" he called back up to her.

She quickly tucked her tongue back away and dropped down onto the floor next to him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, her scarf-clad chin jutting out.

"I'm sure you don't," he chuckled.

"So you finally admit it?" She opened the door that lead to the zigzag stairs attached to the outside of the tower that only ever led to the 3rd floor, and stepped out into the cold and rising wind.

"That when I talk, you grow confused? Yeah, sure, I admit it." He followed behind her down the rail-less, icy steps, his grin still hidden behind his scarf.

She shot a glance and hidden sharp brow back over her shoulder at him as she paused briefly to turn on the small landing before continuing downward.

"Is my talking confusing you right now?" he laughed.

"Your talk confusing me most times," she finally stepped down on the ground, the snow was well-travelled from the stairs around to the garage, and she turned back to him, him stopping on the last step, looking down at her. "That's why I just nod along and grunt, so your feelings don't get hurt by my telling you about all the stupid things that come out of you mouth."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm." He slowly nodded his head, his arms crossed lightly over his parka-clad chest. "Like that, you mean? 'Cause that’s what I do all the time to you,"

She swatted at him with a gloved hand and he dodged it easily, laughing as she turned and went down the path, leaving him to have his grand hoot. She had to wait for him to catch up because he had the keys to the locks on the door, and when he did, he was still chuckling under his breath.

"Just shut up and unlock it already," she scoffed and shook her head, her hands planted on her hips.

"Yes, ma'am!" he saluted her sharply and dug the keys out from his pocket. He took his right thick glove off so he could handle the keys easier and faster with his fleece-clad one and soon they were in the garage pulling the tarp from the trailer and unloading all that they had already loaded up just hours before—this was what you got for trying to be proficient and optimistic.

—

They'd gotten everything back into the storage hold and locked the garage back up tight. And Arya was just finishing her boundary patrol when storm finally reached them.

The winds came first, buffeting her harshly. The flurries came second, heavy like a cold and frosted blanket. And the thunder that sparked and flashed and boomed in the grey rolling clouds that had finally snuffed the sun. And lastly came that hail.

She was on the stairs going up to storage hold when something the size of a large marble hit her on the head—feeling it through the hood of her parka, she nearly tumbled backward of the rail-less stair and down 20-feet. She was sure that the fall wouldn't have kill her, the snow cushioning her impact, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt like cuss.

When she got to safety inside, she yanked her hood, goggles and scarf from her head and face and started upward.

"It's fucking hailing!" she exclaimed, pulling herself up through into the watchroom.

Jon looked over at her from where he squatted next to the fire. "It's what?"

"Hailing! Look at this sucker," she came over to him and showed his the already melting piece of ice in her gloved palm, the very same that had pelted her.

"Hm," he took it between his bare index finger and thumb. "Is it really?"

"Yes! That _ice cube_ nearly killed me. I was just minding my own business on the stairs when it came at me like I offended its mother or something."

"And did you?" he murmured, flicking the now small piece of ice (that could hardly have been even called an ice cube in its current state) into the fire pit where it reverted back to its original form again, the heat melting it with a sizzle and them evaporating it as he fought the grin.

"Wipe that grin off your face!" she told him indignantly. "I did nothing to its mother, you idiot."

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!" he sputtered, unable to hold it any longer, his arms wrapping around his stomach.

Arya glared at him.

As punishment, she pushed him over.

He fell to the floor on his side, but continued to laugh. She always liked that sound of it—but seriously. She stood over him and he looked up at her with bright brown eyes as she poked him in the padded thigh with the toe of her boot... and then she suddenly turned on her heel and sat on him.

"Hey!" he protested, his voice still chocked with laughter.

"Oh, did you say something?" she wondered with faux ignorance, she was like a rock even with her slight body as he struggled underneath her. Tanner had taught her that, how to be virtually unmovable. She smirked, knowing that he couldn't see her face as she sat on his hip.

Jon was about to retort when there was several loud thumps outside the door that lead to the watch balcony. Arya was on her feet in an instant, Jon only a moment behind.

"What was that?" he wanted to know, there play a thing in the past.

"Hail." She told him, looking over as he went to the door. She followed him.

He unlatched it, and it took him a second to get the door open, fighting against the strong wailing winds.

The air was thick with rushing and stinging snow, moving into an unpredictable dance by the strong hand of the wind. Inconsistent thumping could be heard as hail in various sizes and shapes thwacked against all sides of the tower, and found their way onto the balcony, skidding to a halt at Jon's feet as he stood in the doorway, Arya peering around his shoulder. The ten minutes that she had been inside, the density of the hail had picked up.

Jon looked down at it opened mouthed, as the sharp shaped ice slowly started to accumulate, staying solid in the cold. "It hail!" he exclaimed.

Arya rolled her eyes and made no comment. She wouldn’t have believe herself either if it hadn't already tried to kill her. They had never heard of it hailing in the Beyond before.

"But it's never hailed before, that’s just unheard of!" it was like he was reading her mind.

"Yet it is," she said.

Jon looked out through the balcony, still able to just make out the Fence through the snow-chocked distance, the hail just perceptible enough. There was a flash and his eyes snapped up into the grey storm clouds as lightning wormed its way around before shooting from the clouds and disappearing into the distancce and then the boom of thunder over the howling wind.

"Thunder and lightening?!" Another thing that was unheard of.

"That, too." She agreed, pulling the door closed again behind them before the inside of the tower ended up looking like the outside.

"This is insane," he told her, his cheeks red from the cold and astonishment. "I've never heard of a storm like this in the Beyond before."

"Well, it's not the first crazy thing that ever happened in the Beyond, is it?" She sat in the single chair at the desk and found him pacing in front of her in the limited space. "Don't tell me you're scared of storms now, Jon."

"Of course I'm not!" He told her indignantly, the corner of her lips twitched upward at his reaction. He stopped his short stint of pacing in front of her, and his handsome face was troubled. He hadn't been able to shave since they left the Wall for the watchtower and there was a real thickness to his black beard that was coming in. "It just really seems _unnatural_."

Arya couldn't help but remember the Glowing Blue Eyes and gave an imperceptible shudder. She really had gone through some crazy shit while in the Beyond, and this freak storm barely managed to make it onto her top-ten. "Even if it is _unnatural_ ," she allowed, "there's nothing we can do to stop it, but wait it out." She got up and went over to him, putting both of her still-gloved hands on either of his shoulders, snowflakes still melting in his dark curls. "Shadow Tower Base said it should pass through in a couple of days."

"Stuck with you, trapped in a box for a couple days—yeah, nothing insane is going to happen." He muttered, looking down at her. He looked a little less bothered though.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." she smiled.

—

It was later that night, that the hail seemed to die-down almost completely, and while Jon slumbered under several blankets on one of the cots, Arya went out onto the balcony. She made a short trail through the land of ice cubes to the telescope as the wind and snow whipped around her. She released the cover that they had put over the device to protect it and bent over the eye piece. She had her hood up and scarf on, but left her amber goggles off to help her better see as she cupped one gloved hand at her brow, and the other controlled the scope.

She didn't expect to see much, the security lights that went on as darkness fell hardly pierced the veil of snow, but she slowly brought the lens about, from west to east.

She could see nothing by the moving white screen of falling and whirling flurries in the twisting wind. When she finally got the very eastern side, as far was the telescope was allowed to go, she found herself lingering on the spot. It was the same one that she always found herself pausing at on her boundary patrols despite herself—when her and Jon had encountered Ghost and the three dead wolves.

Neither of the pair had ventured out to the place again, what happened to the bodies of the wolves (and the bag of her elk jerky) would be forever unknown. If the wolves lay intact and frozen solid, buried under days of snow; if Ghost had returned once they had left and would take his share in the kill; or if another animal (a white bear perhaps) had come along and claimed the meat for themselves.

She didn't know what she was hoping to see, and finally started to trail the telescope back the other way again; one more look and she'd go back inside. She didn't get very far before she stopped. She estimated she was about where the Fence was on the north-eastern-side, and on some instinct or another she lingered. She wasn't sure if it was something that her eye caught but couldn't process, or if she was already going stir-crazy like Jon said she would—though he had thought that too when she had told him about the shadows that turned into wolves. Tanner always told her to trust her instincts, that primal nature that everything came down to because out here in the unknown, sometimes that was all you had in the end.

She knew that she didn't have a chance to see at that distance, the thick snow like a curtain blocking her sight, but she stayed bent over the device anyways, waiting, wondering. Arya didn't know how long she stayed there, staring at that section of Fence that she had no hope of seeing, but suddenly, there was a parting in the curtain for the briefest of moments, the wind thinning out the snow and she saw to the Fence. It wasn't alone either, she saw multiple dark and blurry shapes crowding around but she couldn't see whether they were more animals or people. And then, before the wind changed direction again, and the curtain closed in a thick of white flakes, it was almost as one of them could feel her stare and it turned, a thunderclap bucking in the clouds—flashing glowing blue eyes.

Arya jumped backwards from the telescope with a startled gasp, and would have slipped on the bed of hail that covered the balcony if she hadn't hit the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest beneath the layers of thermal like a paddleball as she tried to return her breathing to normal, but it seemed stuck on the gasping track. She pulled the scarf from her face, inhaling the sharp, crisp cold air.

When she finally got her breath and heart under control, she made her way back to the telescope and bent over the device again, but all she could make out was the curtain of thick falling snow. She let out a breath, the plume instantly snatched away into the wind, snow, and dragging hail. She was sure she had seen it, had known that she did. She wasn't just seeing things because she had Wights on the brain, among a few other things that started with 'W', and was far from losing her mind.

She went back inside to the warmer confines of the tower and closed the door, leaning back against it and taking another breath. How could she tell Jon what she saw without sounding like she was losing her mind? She'd told him about the shadows in the dark beyond the circle of light and he hadn't believed her—at first—and that had been on a clear night. This was a freak storm that had them both worried, and he might think that that was all she was seeing. She sighed again, her eyes closed and thumping her hooded head back against the thick door.

"What's wrong?"

Arya was startled for a second time, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes snapped open and came level with Jon standing in front of her, apparently having woken from his sleep while she had been outside, concern in his brown eyes.

"I went out for a Fence check." She told him.

"Why? I assume you can see the freak storm out there, there's no way you could see shit in that." He said, though he had just been sleeping, he looked more alert than pair of officers who were staying here before them.

"And you would be right," she agreed. "Until..."

"Until what?" If possible, he looked even more alert now.

"The snow cleared for a second... and I saw something at the Fence."

"... Like?" he said slowly, watching her like a hawk.

Arya found herself biting the inside of her lip now that she was truly put on the spot. He had believed her about the animals in the dark, but only after he had seen the shadows and heard the howling on the wind that wasn't the wind, but she didn't think they would be able to see these Wights or whatever they were until it was too late not to believe it, because they would already be dead. So she had to convince him, make sure that he believed her.

"Arya?" he took a step closer to her.

She released her lip from between her teeth and looked him straight in the eye, grey to brown. "Jon, this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to listen to me, okay?"

"I am,"

"Okay, I think I saw... Wights... or maybe White Walkers... I don't know, but—"

"What are you talking about?" he interrupted her, his dark brows dipped in confusion. Obviously his attempt at listening was a short one. "White Walkers? They haven't been seen for thousands of years, not since the War of the Dawn, they've probably died out by now."

Okay, so maybe she needed to sound more sure of herself, less halting. "They haven't. Don't you remember about the creature I told you I saw the first time that we were in the Beyond together?" she waited a moment until he gave a slow nod before she continued. "I saw it again, Jon, I swear! I am not making this shit up. You know me, and you know I wouldn't do that, not now, not about this."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just having a hard time with what you're saying—it just doesn't make any sense." He confessed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I went to the Library in the Shadow Tower, and I found a book on them, and there was this picture that was exactly what I saw that night. The day before we were sent out here, I went to Benjen about it. I told him about what I saw that night—and let me just tell you that he wasn't liking what I was saying."

"That could mean anything! Benjen could have any number of reasons of why he reacted that way. Maybe he was just humouring you."

"No." Arya shook her head, pushing herself from the door. "He believed what I told him and it didn't sit well with him one bit."

"And did he tell you that?" Jon challenged.

"He didn't have to." She returned. "I'm not stupid, I know my Uncle, and what do you think Tanner's been doing with me all these years." She looked at him in confusion suddenly, "Why are you acting this way?"

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"You didn't believe me when I told you about the shadows I saw that turned out to be wolves—and you don't believe me now, either."

"Wolves are a little easier to believe than Wights—creatures that haven't been seen for thousands of years—and now suddenly, you've seen them _twice?_ " he scoffed.

"Yes, I have!" she couldn't help but feel hurt as his disbelief, towards her word and herself in general, it seemed.

"Twice it happened and I've been with you, and twice I haven't seen them. Why do you expect me to believe? Fables?"

"No, I expect you to believe _me."_ Her voice cracked at the end, tears pricking her grey eyes and that stopped him in his tracts.

His voice was soft and he started to reach out towards her. "Arya, I—"

"This is all _her_ fault!" she screamed, and Jon looked startled at her outburst, albeit a little confused, his hand dropping to his side. Her outrage of it all overtook her, what she knew, the secrets she had been ordered to keep, drying her tears up. "Ever since Benjen allowed her to join the Wall, every—"

Jon's eyes widen as he suddenly realized what she was talking about—or better yet, _who_ —before they narrowed. "It always comes down to that, doesn't it?! To Ygritte," anger of his own coursed through him.

"Because it's her fault! Ever since she's got here, she’s ruined everything!" she shouted, her cheeks hot with anger and frustration. She couldn't take it anymore, she just couldn't hold it in; Benjen's orders be damned. "She's playing you! She's been playing us all from the start! Benjen and Mormont let her join the Wall because there had been activity in the Wildling Clans for some years now, and they wanted to keep the enemy close, to watch their movements. So whatever you think you know about her, it's all lies. She's been gathering information on us to take back to her people so that they can take the Wall—but you can't see past her body, can you?! You say you're not like them, but put a whore in front of you, and you're all the same!"

It was quiet for a long time as she gasped for breath, jerking the zipper of her parka down to dissipate some of the heat that was consuming her as Jon was shocked into silence. She looked at him, at his frozen expression; always wondering if he knew what she did, if Benjen had called him in after their own meeting to tell him the truth about his partner—and she supposed she was about to find out.

A breath finally shuddered through him and he turned away from her. She didn't move, didn't talk, just watched him, his fists clenched hard—the 'ball' was in his court.

"You _are_ right," he whispered finally and she wasn't sure she had heard right. "For all these years, she had me fooled and I am ashamed to admit that her appearance wasn't lacking in that department. I was so stupid and careless, and I should have listened to you from the start." He finally turned back around to her and the expression on his face, in his eyes, made her feel a shame of her own. "Benjen... he told me everything, or at least some things in our meeting after yours."

"Jon, I..." her expression was pained.

"Benjen held me on the strictest of orders not to discuss what we talked about, least of all with you, Arya." He whispered, wanting her to understand, _needing_ her to. "He must have said the same to you,"

"But why? If he told both of us," she murmured finally.

"I don't know," he admitted, looking just an inch relieved that she wasn't yelling at him anymore. "But it doesn't really matter now... does it?"

"I guess not," Arya sat heavily on the edge of the closest cot and after a moment Jon came over and sat next to her. "Jon, I'm so sorry about the things I said!"

"So am I, Arya." He murmured. "I'm—"

There was a bang outside that startled them both into silence, and had nothing to do with the storm.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hope this peaked y'all's interest a bit; some 'domestic' drama, some cliff-hanger action... hehe.**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
> ~ No storm like this has ever happened before, (unless you count the one thousands of years ago during the War of the Dawn...)  
> ~ Did Arya really see Wights at the fence, or where her eyes just playing tricks on her.  
> ~ All of Arya's frustrations had been building for about 3-years now (and apparently so have Jon's, if for a bit) and she can't hold her tongue anymore, probably unleashing her tongue at a rather inconvenient time; seeing as there are a group of Wights (or not) heading for them (or not). [confused? You're not alone... :[) ]  
> ~Benjen informed both Arya and Jon about Ygritte and the Wildlings treachery, but strictly ordered them to discuss it with no one, least of all each other. Why?


	10. Chapter 9

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 9:_ —

They always kept their rifles cleaned, loaded and close at hand, they never truly realized how handy that was until now. They both faced the locked door to the balcony, the fire pit between them and the door, their rifles level. Arya liked the Remington M700, with its 6-round internal magazine and bolt action, while Jon favoured his the more sophisticated Colt LE901 Carbine semiautomatic rifle with its .308 Winchester bullets.

"What was that?" Jon whispered.

"I don't know," she admitted nervously, just as quiet. "Check the monitors."

Arya covered the door as Jon turned to the laden table behind them filled with screens. The cameras were still working, but who knew how much use that would be in this storm.

"Nothing. All I can see is snow!" he growled in frustration.

Her eyes still trained on the door, she commented. "Do you mean the weather or technical term?"

He didn't take it for a joke because he knew that it wasn't. "I can't tell."

"I supposed it doesn't matter if the results the same."

He checked the crank phone just in case, but it was as Shadow Tower Base said, communications would drop in this storm. He returned to her side. "What do you want to do?"

"We have to check it, of course." She narrowed her eyes in thought for a brief moment as they heard nothing more from the balcony—that could be either a good or a bad thing—she just wasn't sure which it was yet. All she could think about was the Wights she saw at the Fence. "We'll do it like a breach." She said finally. "I'll go first with the short-range gun and you cover me with the rifle."

Jon nodded his agreement and covered the door.

She put her arm and head through the strap on the rifle, hanging it from her back and went over to the metal container that they had stowed by the cots and retrieved a Glock 17 semiautomatic. She checked the clip (17 bullets) and loaded the weapon, the safety off, pulling the slid. She handed another to him and he did the same, tucking it again in the strap of his snow pants at his right thigh for easy access.

She did herself up right, as did Jon; pulling their hoods up, goggles on, scarf’s up, and made sure to just wear their fleece gloves for better gun handling.

"We'll do it double-sided. I'll go through the door, and you come up from the roof."

"I'm on it." He nodded and started for the far wall where the foot- and hand-holds were located in the wall that led up to the roof access, shouldering the strap of his rifle.

"Be careful up there, okay? It could be nothing or it could be something." She told him.

"I planned on it from the start." He gave her a small smile through the scarf as he started up to the trapdoor that led to the slightly peaked roof to compensate for all the falling snow. "Give me 30-Watchers-on-the-Wall." He called down.

Cold air and snow forced its way into the watchroom as Jon opened up the trapdoor outward and a shower of snow fell onto his hooded head. She watched as he pulled himself onto the roof, the door closing with a bang and rattle.

She went over to the door, and to the side, facing it, her Glock held in both hands, directed at the door, but lowered, and counted as she thought. The door opened outward, which presented a problem in itself; she was going to have to be quick, but the wind was going to be a bitch and fight them.

She remembered back to her first-year infantry lessons on Craster's Keep, and though she was technically exiting, the same basic rules applied. Carefully, she slowly, undid the bolts and locks as Jon's time limit was nearing its end. There was a hidden access point from the roof to get down to the balcony, and that was where Jon was headed, he should be there in a moment if nothing was amiss—if whatever made that noise on the balcony had stayed on the balcony.

 _Go._ She commanded herself, turning the knob of the door with a quick jerk, shoving it open with force behind her shoulder, the Glock steady in both her hands. Adrenaline raced through her, her heart hammering beneath her zipped parka, silent in the wind that instantly invaded her space as she stepped out onto the balcony. Her eyes took in everything as she panned the space of the balcony in under ten-seconds, the door battering against the back wall from the wind.

The balcony was clear, but she double-checked just in case she missed something. There was no Wight waiting for her, just the telescope on its side, tangled in the tarp that they had put over it to both protect it from the storm, and also anchor it, but the winds seemed to have been stronger than they anticipated as the freak storm drove on around them.

She tucked her Glock into the strap on her snow pants, designed for just that, and bent over to pick the device up. She lifted the tarp and looked through it to see if it was still functioning, it unconsciously pointing in the same direction that she was sure she had spotted the White Walkers/Wights or whatever they were, but could see nothing this time around through the thick falling snow as she waited for Jon.

Night was upon them, and the snow and hail banded together, thick as thieves. The security lights, though still working, hardly worked in these conditions, they didn't cut through the snow like was wanted, but they managed to light the roofed balcony that had accumulated a bed of snow and hail that was at least a foot deep and counting.

She secured the telescope again, thinking that they might as well just bring it inside because it was sure to happen again, and she didn't think that they had a replacement for the thing, as worry started to harden like a iron ball at the pit of her stomach—Jon should have made it down to the balcony by now.

Something must've happened.

She found the hidden holds in the wall on the left side, frozen with ice, and started to carefully climb upward. She hoped that he hadn't slipped and fallen or been blown from the edge by buffeting winds—his scream stolen by the wind—despite the flat planes under the snow on the roof that were laid out for just such an occasion. She could have called out, but that would eliminate the element of surprise if this was something more than just a slip.

The wind was much fiercer up here, at the top-most part of the tower, its 50-feet. The wind easily invaded her scarf as she rose nothing but her amber-goggled eyes. She couldn't see much for the slanting roof, the piled snow (the wind picking up the fine top layer and whipping it at her face) and the corner of the solar panels. She couldn't see Jon or anything else that might have been on the other side of the slope, so she had no choice but to pull herself all the way up and investigate herself.

She got her boots under her and carefully stood to her full height of 5'0", centering her gravity so that the winds didn't actually carry her off the side of the roof—they'd certainly take her but they wouldn’t keep her, letting her drop to (what would surely be) her death 50-feet down. She pulled her Glock from its strap, and carefully found the narrow flat strip beneath the snow. The only reason that she knew where it was (despite having only been up to the roof once before when she had come with Tanner) was because in their lessons back at the Wall, all cadets must learn the layout of the watchtowers for just such an occasion.

Standing strong against the wind she slowly started to maker her way around, starting on the east-side. Even if Jon had been there, the wind would have wiped any memory of his boot steps away in a matter of seconds.

The roof was the size of any of the other rooms in the Watchtower. She finally reached the south-side of the roof, where the trapdoor that led inside to the watchroom was located, and found no sight of Jon.

"Jon!" she screamed over the wind and through her scarf. "Jon!"

She could see impressions made in the thick slow that was partially protected from the wind on the side of the slopping roof, but that was it. Jon was gone, missing. She stepped over the trapdoor, a hole-in-the-bucket hope that she would find him on the west-side, but her foot hit a hidden patch of ice under the snow and her leg came straight out form under her.

She let out a yelp of surprise, her Glock falling into the thick snow on the slop of the roof as she went sideways over the side.

She didn't know what it was that she was holding onto, but it was the only thing that had stopped her decent over the side, most of her upper body hung over the side. She took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes, and found herself looking straight in the widened, amber-tinted brown eyes of Jon as he hung from the edge of the roof by the tips of his fingers (as he was buffeted by wind and snow, and pelted with hail).

"Hang on!" she shouted to him needlessly, not even sure if the wind stole it away before it even reached his ears.

She scrambled back into the roof, quickly stabilized herself and peeked over the edge again. Snow-filled wind whipped in curls at her face, trying force its way unwanted into her lungs. Jon was still hanging there, his fingers finding the lip of the roof, his boots kicking at the wall to find some kind of purchase to take the strain of all his weight from his arms. His Glock was gone, probably buried in the snow below, and the strap of his rifle was a burden at his shoulder. He must've been hanging there since the second he stepped out from that trap door, while she was still inside, counting Watchers-on-the-Wall, and then taking her sweet time on the balcony looking through the telescope at nothing but blowing snow—and all the while Jon had been hanging-on for his very life.

She knew that she had to pull him up, but he was heavier than her and he'd just pull her over the edge with him. If he hadn't been Wall-trained, he would have been dead already; all the punishment that Thorne and Qhorin put him through wasn't for nothing. She needed to anchor herself somehow, but all there was the same ice that he and she had slipped on. There wasn't time enough to go back through the trapdoor and get some rope and them tie it off to something—it needed to be something that she could do right now!

She gasped as it suddenly came to her, nearly choking behind the scarf as the wind took advantage. "One more second!" she told Jon, and sat back up, disappearing from his view. The trapdoor was right there next to her and she flipped the door open again, but instead of disappearing inside, she just stuck the lower-half of her body, from the hips down into the opening. The door was right at the edge of the roof so that she would be able to easily reach Jon, have the leverage, and the anchor so he wouldn't drag her over. Her upper torso came over the edge, and with her small hands, she reached into the tight opening of his parka sleeves and grasped his wrists tight with her fleece-gloved hands.

Jon nodded to her, "Now!" she thought she heard, and pulled with her strength as he tried to gain purchase on the wall and his arms tensed as he strained to pull himself up. Arya's body was curled around what would be the inside-roof and the outside-roof, the edge of the trapdoor cutting painfully into her ribs, but she ignored it as they finally seemed to be making some ground. She remember the time when she pulled him from the water, right after he most literally threw her out of it.

As Jon started back up, she slowly started to go down the hole. First his arms, then his shoulders, and his torso and she finally released his wrists, dropping almost ten-feet the rest of the way into the watchroom on nimble feet. She looked up and watched as Jon came a moment later, climbing down that holds and touched down on slightly shaky legs (the trapdoor closed to the outside again). She took his arm and led him over to the cot and he sat down heavily. She took his carbine rifle and leaned it against the foot of the cot, stock to the floor and with shaking hands he took off his headgear.

Arya pushed her hood back, goggles and scarf crowding her throat as she looked down at him with concern, her Remington still strapped to her back, her Glock lost on the roof. It was freezing in the room, the wind had invaded and the fire was almost dead—it would've been dark if it were for the couple oil lamps that were lit by the monitors.

"Are you okay, Jon?" she asked.

He swallowed heavily and leaned back against the wall that the cot was pushed up against and nodded. "Yeah—yeah, I'm okay."

"I was so scared when I couldn't find you," she whispered.

"Yeah, well, I was pretty scared there for a minute myself." He chuckled, but there was no humour in it (not that there was anything to laugh about). "If you hadn't slipped yourself, you might never have found me—scared me half-to-death, though, I really thought for a second there that you were coming over, too."

"I honestly don't know how I didn't," she admitted. "I grabbed onto something, I just don't know what it was."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm glad that you did." He gave a small shiver that might have crossed-over into a shudder.

"I told you to be careful up there," she admonished him softly, finally turning from him and starting for the door that was still open and banging against the wall for the wind. She looked over at him as she got to the threshold. "You're never going up there ever again, do you understand me?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," he reassured her, rubbing at his wrists; he was sure to have bruises with the grip she had him in.

She reached out and grabbed the inside handle and pulled against the wind, confused when the door stopped half-way. She pulled harder and it fought her, pulling back—and that was when she noticed that there was a third hand in the mix, curled around the edge of the door. Adrenaline took hold of her heart. Its hand was bare, its fingers grey-blue, its nails jagged and blackened.

She quickly manage to swing her rifle around to the fore, still surprised that it hadn't gone off when she had slipped, and aimed it at the door—at the body that was hidden behind it. It was still cocked and locked and her finger found the trigger easily enough. The shot rang loud in the small room and Jon jumped to his feet, his carbine in his hands where he grabbed it from the end of the cot, renewed adrenaline going through him.

"Arya?!" he demanded, his barrel directed at the door but saw nothing that represented a target.

Her shoulders were steady and she didn't move an inch, watching and waiting, wondering if she had hit the target that she couldn't see, if it was still capable of countering.

"Cover me," she told him, her voice low in the wailing wind that took the open door again, slamming it back against the wall and from her voice, but making a different noise than before.

Jon nodded, his LE901 still directed at the door as he took a spot a few feet behind her and to the side to get a better view of the door and not actually shoot her in the back if he had to fire. His arms had been shaky after his adventure hanging of the side of the roof for what felt like forever as his body told him, but was probably no more than 5-minutes, but his own adrenaline supply steadied him.

Arya wished she had her Glock right about now, but it was still on the roof, so she had to deal with her Remington. She edged her way out the door and into the balcony, the storm still raging. The rest of the balcony was clear, and she slowly edged her way part way around the door and to whatever lay behind it

She was still, all Jon could make out was the back of her arm and elbow in a position he knew with the rifle stock at her shoulder as she aimed down.

Arya had never killed a person before, she'd never even used a gun to kill an animal; Tanner liked to make her use knives, to get her in close. To see their eyes, breathe their breath, feel their blood. She looked down at what appeared to be a Wildling man clad in fur cloak, covered in crystallised frost. She tentatively jabbed at the downed body with the toe of her boot and got no response, she did it once more, harder this time with the same result. He seemed to be dead. She could see the dark hole in the furs where she had shot him in the chest.

She thought back to the description of the White Walkers; over 6 ft., pale skin, white hair and unnatural blue eyes that appeared to glow. She could see the tangled matt of brown long hair that came from under the hood, so he wasn't a White Walker... but for all she knew, these past thousands of year, the White Walkers could have breed with the scattered Wildlings from the camps that lived on the boarder of the Land of Always Winter. She still didn't know what Wights looked like, just that they had similar eerie blue eyes that seemed to glow.

She was about to give Jon the all-clear when its eyes snapped open in its grey-blue looking face and they were the glowing blue eyes that she had seen twice since in the Beyond. She didn't make a sound as her heart leapt into her throat and her forefinger took action. Her second shot rang just as loud as the first before in vanished into the wind.

"Arya!?" Jon shouted.

"I'm fine!" she called back to him, but didn't move from where she stood over the body.

"Arya," he said again, his voice softer this time as he came to her, clearing the balcony before he stood beside her behind the door and looked down at the body of what appeared to be a Wildling—and was just in time to watch as the blue glow faded from the body's eyes and the irises turn a dull brown. "Oh, my Gods!"

"Do you believe me now?" she muttered, her rifle still ready in her arms and pointed at the body; she had thought that it was dead before... maybe the knew hole in its head did the job?

Jon looked from the body to his partner; her breath was even, her aim still steady and directed at the body that he was sure was dead this time, and the monotonous glaze in her narrowed grey eyes. "Arya..."

She didn't feel that sickness in the pit of her stomach like she used to think she would when she thought about if she ever had to kill another person. She wondered if it was because of Tanner's training, or if she was just one of those people who could take a life without much thought or feeling.

She gave her head a little shake and looked over at Jon who was giving her a worried look, and flashed him a small smile. "We should put it in the prisoner hold and call it in when the storm finally passes. There could be more out here, so we should go inside, lock-up and stay alert."

"How did he even get up here?" Jon wondered as they shouldered their weapons and grabbed a-hold of a limb each and started to drag the corpse around the door and into the watchroom (finally closing and locking-up the door).

"I don't know," she grunted as the came to pause at the trapdoor on the floor that lead to the storage room, and pushed the body through the hole. It fell the 12-feet down like a sac of potatoes, but didn't have quite the same sound as it landed on the floor. "Everything was clear on the balcony when I checked it before; the thing that made all that noise was just the telescope being knocked over in the wind."

They climbed down into the room and started to drag the body once more through the darkened stacks of their dwindled supplies to the hidden trapdoor in the floor that would them to the body's final destination.

The drop was 2-feet shorter this time, but the result was the same. Jon lit a oil lamp and Arya got the keys to the single cell in the fortified safe-room and unlocked the several mechanisms as Jon dragged the Wildling the last bit of the way and shoved it into the cell before she locked it back up again.

They stepped back and looked at the crumpled body on the floor for a long moment in the flickering shadows of the lamp. The snow and frost that clung to it was already melting rapidly in the warmth of the inner tower and formed a shallow puddle around it. Same with the flakes stuck to their curls and toques.

"It must've happened while we were out on the roof," he said finally. "Otherwise we would have heard something."

She nodded. "I think you're right, but I didn't see anyway for it to have gotten almost 50-feet to the balcony."

"You might have interrupted him when you went to close the door."

"So it hid behind the door, discarding its way up back over the edge in hopes that I wouldn't see it, but I spotted it around the door and put an end to that pretty quick." She agreed.

"Why do you keep calling him 'it'?" Jon couldn't stop himself from asking, once he noticed, he couldn't stop.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Didn't you see its eyes?!" she demanded.

"Yes, you're right." He agreed. "But I hardly even know what I saw."

She flung her hand out towards the body. "That wasn't normal, and you know it! You finally saw it, so you'd better stop acting like this fucked up shit isn't happening. I saw more than one of them at the Fence—so either they're following its lead and coming for us, or they're going to head south and for the Wall. Either way, we have to stop them!"

He took a deep, a slightly shaky breath as he looked hard at the dead body that now occupied their cell. He'd always been able to put Arya's stories off to just that, stories. It was easy because he hadn't seen it then, but he had seen it now—the Glowing Blue Eyes that she had always told him about. He had seen them, glimpsed as they faded from the man's dead eyes and his irises reverted back to normal (was what he suspected had happened), and there was no denying it any longer. All that Benjen had told him, about the Wildlings, and about Ygritte… all of it.

"Yes. There's sure to be more coming, and we need to be ready to defend this tower, defend the Wall!" he gave his shorter, but fierce companion a firm nod.

"Good," she clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to truly fucked up world, Jon; it’s going to be a blast."

He didn’t seem to share her serious sentiment.

　

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hope this peaked y'all's interest a bit; some 'domestic' drama, some action, and suspense... hehe.**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Watchtower(2) = The watchtower is powered by a wind turbine located on top of the roof as well as a set of (black) solar panels. They are placed at the right angle to catch the sun at its longest point in the sky directly above. They store the energy of the sun as well take a minimal heat that melts any snow that might pile up on them. The roof also has narrow, flat planes on it to easier travel the snowy recesses.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ This was the first time that Arya had killed anything other than an animal, and with a gun as well.  
>  ~ Was this man really a Wilding, or was it something else, something that Arya always seems to encounter—Glowing Blue Eyes.  
> ~ Jon is finally ready to face the truth of things, after a unreasonable amount of doubts despite the truth being told to him and shown to him._


	11. Chapter 10

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 10:_ —

Arya watched Jon out of the corner of her grey eyes from where she sat beside the stoked fire in the watchroom, at an angle so that she could cover the door (that had been patched up from the bullet she'd shot through it), and see Jon, who sat at the desk, at the same time. It had been a few hours since she had killed that Wildling, or whatever it really was, and she couldn't say that she felt any different, but it seemed to have changed Jon quiet a bit. There had been no activity since, so maybe the rest of its group had taken the second path and went south into the Beyond, and for the Wall. The crank phone did nothing but crackle went they tried to contact Shadow Tower Base as the storm continued to rage on outside. It had been that way for hours now, and the time was creeping into the 0500, but the sun didn't seem to want to surface just yet and blast this storm away.

So many things had gone so wrong, something had to go right at some point—didn't it?

"Can't we talk?" she murmured, her goggles and scarf clear of her face, her hood down and gloves off, she was warm next to the fire.

He didn't answer for a long moment, his brown gaze trained on the snowed monitors, his attire in the same condition as hers, but she knew that it wasn't from his lack of hearing her. "What is there to say?" he finally whispered.

"Everything!" she told him, turning her face more towards him than the door.

"Arya," he sighed, still not looking at her. She wondered how his eyes weren’t killing him right now from staring at the same thing for hours, but then again, so had she. "Things can never go back to the way they were those first six-months together, too much has happened and changed."

"Nothing that can't be fixed," she protested.

"Stop living in a dream world!" he snapped suddenly, jerking to his feet and spinning around to sneer down at her. "I'm sorry(s) and it's not your fault(s) can't fix something like this between us. This mistake..." he ground his teeth hard, his brown gaze flaring at her in anger and frustration. "I've made up my mind on the matter, so why don't you just fuck-off already? You were right not to trust her, it's what you always wanted, so just fucking let it alone already!"

Arya looked up at him open-mouthed astonishment at his sudden outburst of anger and the harshness in his voice and usually kind brown eyes. But it wasn’t long before a hard hotness went through her blood and she jumped to her feet (leaving her Remington on the floor) and came right up to him, she didn't even pause as she got right up in his face—and punched him.

He wasn't expecting it and he wasn't ready for it, and frankly, neither was she. She just needed to knock some sense into the man, be it the hard way or the other hard way—whatever got the job done. Hopeful this would get her feelings on the matter across because for whatever reason, as of late, Jon seemed to have his head up his ass and she was sick of all this bullshit that he kept spinning at her.

She may have been small, but she'd always been able to pack a punch. The force of it made him stumble back against the desk, his face thrown to his shoulder. His hand can up and he gently felt the throbbing side of was felt like the whole right-side of his face but was probably just radiating from his cheek and turned to look at her, speechless.

She took a deep breath and looked at him with a hard expression.

"I'm sick of this shit! Of all your self-pity and wallowing—get over yourself. If you think for one instant that I'm just letting you go like that, because of her?— _Her?!"_ —Her hand sliced through the short space between them sharp and harsh, pointing off in the direction of the Wall where they knew was Ygritte's last location was— "Then maybe I'll do more than just punch you next time. So, you didn't know. So, you didn't have a clue. She spun a web of lies and we were snared up into it like easy prey. Benjen and Mormont only suspected. _I_ didn't even truly realize it, just something inside of me didn't like or trust her. You're human, Jon, _human_. We all make mistakes. It's no one's fault, least of all your's. She fooled everybody, stop being such a baby, stop thinking that you'll be doing the right thing by resigning from the Wall when we get back. It's the stupidest solution to anything in the world (and if you think that Benjen would allow that...)" She gave her head a rough shake in disgust. "We're family, Jon, blood brother and sister." She murmured softer this time, looking fiercely into his eyes that brimmed with tears. "I'm not letting you go. I will not let her destroy you like this. So, get it clear in your fucking head, you're not going anywhere—not when we get back to the Wall, and not now while we take out these bastards who think they can take on some Crows. You're my partner, Jon," her finger jabbed him in the chest, hard through his parka. "Mine, not hers, _mine._ Got that? _"_ She was finished speaking but didn't back off—she wouldn't until the message got through his thick curls.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, hot tears dribbling from the corner of his eyes and down his cheeks until they were absorbed by his dark beard. "I'm falling apart." His voice broke.

She smiled at him softly, her grey gaze serious. "Don't worry, I'll never let you go. You're not going to get far without me by your side. I'll be the pain in your ass that never goes away,"

He gave a short chuckle at that, the light finally seeming to return to his eyes, his tears slowly coming to a halt—just as what might have been the loudest crashing noise, as loud as an explosion, sounded, the mere volume of it seemed to shake the foundations of the watchtower.

They grabbed a hold of each other to stay up right, and the room grew dimmer as all the monitors blinked out.

"What the hell was that?" Arya shouted. "Are we under attack?!"

Still gripping her, he looked around for a brief moment as another crash sounded, but more distant this time. "No, I think it was just thunder. A bolt of lighting must have hit the wind turbine or the solar panels on the roof, severing the electricity."

"That mean's we don't have the cameras anymore," she whispered, looking behind Jon at the now black screens.

"It won't make much of a difference," he decided, turning around to look down at them as well. "We weren't able to see much of anything out there with them anyways."

"Yeah, but at least they were _something_." She protested. "Now we're completely blind but for the balcony, unless we physically go out there ourselves..."

He looked over at her as she got quiet. "What?" Her brows furrowed and she turned, walking a few paces away from him next to the fire before stopping. "Arya?"

She turned back around and stared across at him, the fire next to her making shadows dance across the plains of her face in a ominous fashion. "We need to go out there and patrol."

He looked at her like she was insane, and what she was saying was just that. "What are you talking about? That's out of the question!"

"We survived out in blizzards before!" she reminded him.

He shook his head roughly. "Yeah, but nothing that can compare to this. Its the storm of the century—of that last 10—30 centuries—out there. We'd never survive. Our place is here in the tower!"

"They call it a watchtower, but that's not all we're supposed to do."

"We should at least wait-out the storm," he tried to reason.

"By then it'll be too late!" Arya told him. "We're being invaded, Jon, slowly but surely—Ygritte said as much to me. We can't let it stand. We are what stands between a hostile take over. Until this storm ends, and we can report in all that has happened, and they send officers out here, we are on our own and have to take care of business."

Jon was silent as he looked at her, a reluctant acceptance of her words coming into his expression. He knew that she was right, that they couldn't just sit here anymore. He had been holding back, in denial, and he was sick at himself for it. He finally nodded, "Okay."

A slow smile spread across her lips, her grey eyes lighting up in the flickering light of the flame as her heart pounded with excitement and a bit of fear in her chest at the unknown—knowing that his would be too even if he was bereft of admitting it.

—

They had both gotten a new Glock from the container, neither willing to go back on the roof to retrieves Arya's, and Jon's would probably be lost on the ground forever. And now stood at the door in the storage room that led to the outside stairs, checking their packs to see if they remembered all the essentials that they would need to brave the storm outside.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," he muttered, crouched across from her, their bags between them.

"It was easy in your vulnerable state," she joked. He gave her a look. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," he agreed, doing his pack up.

She nodded solemnly as she did the same; they surely had all that they might need. "I'll try again later."

"I wish you wouldn't." He stood and started covering his head and face with its respective gear.

"Fine." He gave her another look. "Do you need me to promise? I will if you need me to... I cross my heart and hope to—"

"Don't finish that!"

Now it was her turn to give him a look. "Are you getting all superstitious on me?" She pulled her hood up snug around her head and pulled her amber goggles into place over her eyes and stood.

"Yes. Now shut up and let’s do this before I change my mind for real this time."

She made a zipper motion at her lips with her gloved fingertips before pulling her scarf up to hid the rest of her face. She went to the door. "Just wanted to lighten the mood." She muttered.

"You succeeded well," he told her sarcastically, taking a position behind her and a bit to the left; reminiscent of what happened above hours earlier.

"I knew you'd agree," she completely ignored the tone in his voice as she pulled open the door.

Whatever comment Jon had been about to make, was swallowed by the immediate gust of wind and snow that swept through the opening and at them.

Arya stood sentry for a moment, peering through amber goggles into the snow and hail clogged ether in front of them. After deeming it as clear as she could (meaning not seeing any Wildling/Wights within her congested sights), she stepped out and he followed her.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, in the whipping wind they walked the immediate perimeter of the outside of Flamingo Tower (after putting on their snowshoes) to see if anything was amiss, and when the came upon the north-most facing side of the tower, they discovered what it was that the Wildling/Wight had used to get up to balcony almost 5-feet above them. It was a makeshift grappling hook made from knotted furs. Nothing else looked out of place as they finally made it back to their starting point at the bottom of the stair.

She hitched the strap of her rifle back up onto her shoulder. They decided that though it was slower, it would be better for them to go the light-boundary by foot instead of taking out the snowmobile—using the machine in this storm was to much of a gamble.

They decided to head north-north-east, towards the Fence and where Arya had seen the Glowing Blue Eyes when she had been on the balcony looking through the telescope. It was a long shot that they would still be there, one already having visited the watchtower, so who knew where they could be after all the time that had passed; but it was somewhere for them to start from.

They were attached to each other by a length of rope so that they wouldn't been separated in the storm, their flashlights clipped to their parkas, and a elastic headlamp camped on their foreheads.

Though their compass didn't work this close to the Frost Fangs, they always had one with them in case they got totally and completely lost and ended up out of the 5-mile interrupt-zone.

It was a few hours later that they found the Fence. It was well into the morning, but the storm blocked out the sun so completely, that it seemed as if it were still night, the thick dark clouds that belched lighting and burped thunder clogging the sky so completely as the snow kept falling and the wind never let up, but at least it seemed that the hail had come to a stop—for now at least. The snow so thick in front of them that they literally ran into the thing. To their relief and mixed dismay, they didn't get electrocuted.

"The storm must have interrupted the power current," Jon shouted over the wind to her, despite the fact that she was no more than a foot from him.

Arya turned to look at him, her forehead light flashing in his eyes and she angle her head so it didn't point directly into his eyes. "But the safety lights are still on," she gestured a glove hand to indicate not only the security lights at the top of each fence post surrounded by the lines of barbed wire at the top of the Fence that stood twice as tall as the watchtower at 100-feet, not to mention the small orange lights that peppered the posts to indicate the exact boundary of the Fence for times such as in the night.

"Different power junctions," he told her.

If that was true, than it was a bit weird and disconcerting that the lights were still active, but the current wasn't. They glanced at each other before looking either way down the length of the Fence as far as the snow would allow before it was obscured from sight; knowing without saying that they were thinking the same thing.

Though the security lights still worked, it wasn't like either of them was able to see to the Fence in the storm, and the sensors that sounded the alarm, turned on the current seemed to have been buried in the snow.

"Let's find where they came through," he finally said and she nodded her agreement.

They went to the closest fence post and found the painted marks that indicated exactly where at the Fence that they were, and then started to head east along the Fence.

Passing three more posts, they arrived at what would have been the light-boundary of the tower under normal circumstances, but in this storm the light reached nowhere near this distance. Any activity in the snow would have long since been blown away and covered with fresh snow, so they inspected that section of the Fence to see if anything was amiss.

Arya walked close to the Fence, inspecting the ice-coated links in the double chain linked fence for any cuts in the mesh, Jon following at the distance of the rope for a second look. Normal mesh was about 3mm in diameter, but this stuff was more like 1cm, and she wondered how they would be able to cut through it when a surprised yelp left her lips (swallowed by her scarf and wind as the ground seemed to have disappeared from beneath her feet.

She found herself buried in snow up to her armpits against the Fence, Jon having nearly been jerked into falling onto her. Jon pushed himself up onto his knees and looked down at her stuck in what must have been the Wildlings entry into the Beyond, a tunnel under the Fence through frozen snow.

The fence was anchored beneath the snow about 10-feet and that was how deep they would of had to dig to get under the links on the fence. The only reason that Arya wasn't probably burried alive in snow right now was because a buckle on her pack caught on the Fence.

"Jon!" she screamed at him, struggling to get herself out from the hole.

"Stop!" Jon told her as she seemed to be digging herself deeper. After a moment of realizing she was making it worst, she stopped it. He shouldered off his own pack and rifle, jerking her Remington strap from her arm where the rifle was jammed at a precarious angle at her and set it with his own.

He moved in front of her, the Fence right at his right side and got his feet under him in a squat. He dug some of the snow out from under her armpits to make room for his hands. He grabbed her and pulled up and towards himself with grunt as she grabbed onto his shoulders and tried to dig her toes into the sides of the tunnel and help him out. It was almost like she popped out of the packed snow and landed half onto of him, her lower legs and (snowshoe less) feet still half buried in the snow.

Arya rolled off of him and to her right, pulling the rest of herself from the hole. She tried to brush the snow from herself, and cleaned her Glock off before the snow that clung to it could freeze or clog it. And then reached into the loose snow and pulled out her snowshoes that had come off in her struggle for freedom.

"You okay?" he asked her, climbing to his feet.

She nodded after taking moment to clip them back into place and he pulled her up to her feet. "So this is how they got in." They crowded around the hole, inspecting it.

"It looks that way," he nodded. "It must have taken forever. It has to be frozen solid down that far.

"It had to of taken at least a day, but we would have noticed them—so they must have started it when the storm came and fucked with all our security." She squatted down next to the hole, inspecting it closer. She remembered the hand that had gripped the edge of the door; blackened and broken finger nails, skin grey—and had the impossible thought that they had dug through the snow and ice with their hands, but that would have been near impossible without a spade or something similar to chip away at it.

She finally stood back up and reclaimed her Remington, slowly doing a 360° check through the whipping snow. When she finally faced Jon again, he had taken up his Colt LE901Carbine.

"How the fuck are we supposed to find them in this?" she groaned.

His shoulders rose for a brief moment before levelling out again in a shrug, gazing through the double fence before looking back to her, his headlamp beam following him and came to rest steady on her own forehead. "It was your big plan to come out here in in the first place."

She glowered at him from behind her scarf and tried to think. "If one went to the tower, isn't it safe to assume that they all followed?" She asked.

"That grappling hook doesn't really prove that though. Just because we found it in the snow below, doesn't mean that it did it on purpose, maybe it just came loose in the wind. Besides, if they had all went to the watchtower, wouldn't we have seen something to indicate their presence when we did that patrol?"

"But by the time we got out there, this storm could have erased all proof." She returned. "But... why wouldn't the others have attacked if they came together?"

"Maybe they _didn't_ follow that one," he pointed out.

"So then that means that they're out here somewhere." She looked around them again, almost like now that it was admitted, they would appeared from the snow, but nothing happened as a thunderclap sounded. "How are we supposed to find them now?" she repeated.

"Let's just walk the light-perimeter and then go back to watchtower; we'll just have to report in to Shadow Tower Base when the storm lets up enough to get a signal through."

Arya nodded in a mix of defeat and relief as they shouldered their packs again; _why_ did she have the stupid notion of coming out here in the storm to go on some hunt? When did she become so battle-hungry? Was it before or after she killed that Wildling that might have been a Wight or a White Walker half-breed of some sort? Tanner, all those trips into the Beyond, all of the animals that she had killed over this last year; moose, bear, fox, deer, mountain cat; all fierce creatures, slaughtered at her hands, never with a gun but with her _hands_ ; he had dulled her at the prospect of death so when she killed the Wildling, its life held no value for her—no importance.

They headed away from the Fence, where the perimeter would have been had the storm not all but snuffed out the dawn-to-dusk security lights, that were still on despite the fact that it was around 1300, the hole having been dug just inside the zone.

The flashlights clipped at their waists bounced, the beams jerking and reflecting off the thick, fast blowing snow that didn't seem like it was ever going to stop.

They paused briefly to take a break, rest their weary legs for a minute and get a drink from the insulated water canteen before they started moving through the storm again. Looking for these invaders out in these conditions was like finding a grain of salt in a mountain of sugar—a truly impossible task.

And it is the second too late that Arya realized exactly where they are that something ploughed into Jon next to her, sending him flying away and her tumbling into the snow after him.

She couldn't tell which way was up, which way was down. All there was, was the white of the snow. Tangled in rope and struggling limbs, she didn't know who was Jon and who was their attacker; and he probably felt the same. She had lost her Remington in the tumble somewhere, and held up an arm protectively over her face when was she was hit (on purpose of otherwise was still in question), and fumbled with her right hand for her leg. She wasn't sure if she still had her Glock on her other leg, but it was just too risky to use it in this blindness as Jon tried to fight their attacker anyways. She felt her thick-gloved fingers wrap around one of the knives that she kept stashed on her (a lesson Tanner had taught her with his favoured weapon that had become her own), and pulled it free from its encasement. Again, it was too risky to go slashing and dashing in this heap of bodies when she didn't know who was who, so she had to separate them.

She removed the arm protecting her face, and as soon as she did, she got what felt like an elbow to the nose. Even as she could feel the warmth bloom from her nose under the scarf in the form of blood, her left hand scrambled to find a piece of the rope that bound her and Jon together (dangerously so, at this moment).

She sawed at the first cord that she found at her chest and felt the give as the blade sliced through. She felt the rope loosen its hold on her, and after writhing in the snow, getting rolled on with two heavy bodies and almost loosing and then stabbing herself with her dagger, she scrambled free.

She could feel the blood that covered her face and soaked into her scarf getting colder and start to freeze, not to mention suffocate her, so as she rolled from the creature and Jon's fighting forms, she tugged it from her face, exposing herself to the wind. She threw off her pack, it weighing her down as she saw the moving mass of two bodies in the shower of snow, straightened her headlamp (that had managed to stay on her head). In the weak beam of the light, she saw them stop, the bigger of the two forms on top, snowshoe clad boots stuck out from beneath, kicking and flailing—it was killing Jon.

She got to her feet, having lost one of her snowshoes somewhere, and jumped on the two bodies, locking her thighs around its back as it tried to buck her off even as it continued to strangle the life out of Jon. She wrapped an arm around its head, wrenching it to the side as she tried to get it off him but it didn't budge and exposing the vulnerable body part surround by furs, and plunged her dagger into the cold, grey flesh.

A spurt of thick darkness sprayed over the falling white, hitting his upraised arms, the beam from Jon's askew headlamp catching it in shots as he struggled get pry the bare hands from his own throat. It still lived, but was quickly dying as she twisted the knife it its jugular and finally pulled the dagger free. The Wildling finally released its hold on him and it and Arya fell off the man to the side.

"Jon!" she quickly pushed the body from her and struggled up onto her knees, quickly turning over to Jon. She was relieved to find him wheezing and coughing as he struggled to pulled the scarf from his face. She helped him and he took quick, gasping breaths of the sharp cold air. "Are you okay?"

"Mm, yeah." he finally managed, his voice sounding cracked and rough from the abuse done unto his larynx. His pack was above his right shoulder, the left shoulder strap having been torn in the struggle.

"Good," she was relieved; if she had wasted any time, she would have two bodies laying around her instead of one. Speaking off. "Hang on," she told him, she put her knife away and took her left hand from Jon's arm as she helped him sit up and felt her thigh to her Glock. Luckily, she hadn't lost that, too, and upon checking Jon out, he still had his. Good, two less things to have to hunt down in what was sure to be a wide tumble-zone.

"Arya?" he croaked, looking at the Glock in her gloved hand.

"Just want to make sure its dead," she told him and got to her feet and turned around to stand over the fur and snow clad body that didn't seem to have moved since she last saw it as the snow and wind buffeted her.

He pulled his own Glock and covered her from where he was still seated, his breath slowly working through his abused neck, feeling the hard ach whenever he swallowed.

A stab to the neck should have killed anything normal, but then again, she had thought the other one was dead, too, and if not for her quick reflexes, who knew what might of happened.

She stood on the boot that still had the snowshoe attached, and prodded the body in the furs-thick back with the toe of her other. She wasn't a pussy about it this time, hitting it with enough force that it slumped a bit forward. Not knowing whether it could be playing possum or not, she couldn’t have cared and levelled her Glock at its hooded head. She fingered the safety off and pulled the trigger. The resound was short and simple, there and then not as it was swallowed by snow and wind, never to be heard again until she found another reason to pull the trigger (which, with the way things seemed to be going, would be sooner, rather than later).

"You sure you got it this time?" he joked without humour.

"I'm sure," she didn't laugh.

Glock still in hand and directed at its head, she reached down with her right hand and rolled the body back onto its back so that she could see it. The blood from its neck covered the multi-coloured furs wrapped around its chest and the underside of it chin, the liquid already frozen and crystallized, the hole in its neck just a darker shadow in the beam of her headlamp as it played across its features, Jon's fainter one a little back.

It looked similar to the one that she had shot twice back at the watchtower, grey skin and dark hair, no gloves. Its eyes were closed, so she couldn't see its eyes, and hadn't been looking into its eyes like she was sure that Jon had been, so only he would know if the were glowing blue. Her lips twisted stiffly in disgust at the sight of it. Its mouth slight agape and she could see the edge of sharpened teeth. Where its nose should have been, was nothing but an jagged-looking black hole where it was either taken by frostbite or something else entirely—there would be no way for her to ever be sure.

It was bigger than the last one, broader, taller. If this thing had had a weapon, Jon would be dead right now, so maybe they really did use their hands to dig that tunnel under the Fence, otherwise they would of had the tools with them because the pair hadn't found any at the scene.

"What about you?" he asked after her as she rolled the for-sure-now-dead-body a little ways away from them with a grunt and came back to him.

"Just a bloody nose," she assured him, running her gloved hands through the crystallized blood that covered her lower face. There was a heartbeat in her nose, but thankfully it wasn't broken. "What about you? Beside the nose, I mean. That fight seemed pretty tough from where I was being dragged along, like a couple of bear cubs."

"Nice," he muttered, but complied with surveying himself after she helped him to his feet.

His legs seemed fine but for a faint twinge in his knee, but it wasn't so bad that it would hinder him. His torso seemed a little tender where it had pummelled him, a bruised cheek that was numb in the cold and of course his throat, but other than he seemed to be fine. "I'll be okay," he said and pulled his scarf back up to cover his frozen face.

Arya nodded and did the same, her scarf stained with frozen blood against her nose and lips, but it was warmer and better than leaving her face expose (and end up looking like that Wildling). "What do you say we find out all our shit and get the fuck outta here?" she suggested, almost tripping over her lost snowshoe and bent down to strap it to her boot (a buckle broken).

"Faster the better," he agreed.

And they started the search for all of their scattered gear, all the while keeping a close eye on their surrounding in case there was another surprise attack through the curtain of snow as lightning shot out of the dark, bulging overhead cloud and light up the snow for a brief second.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> Fence(2) = The Fences electrical current and security lights run on separate power junctions. Each post has a security light posted at the very top, boundary indicator lights, and coded markings to indicated exactly where along the Fence was located. The Fence was anchored beneath the frozen snow about 10-feet 
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ Jon has been a little out of it since Arya confronted him about the truth about Ygritte, but after she convinces him that they need to go out and brave the storm and face the invaders, he seems to be coming back to his old-self.  
> ~ Arya has now killed two Wildlings and is slowly coming to a conclusion on exactly what they really are.


	12. Chapter 11

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 11:_ —

In their scuffle they had rolled out of the boundary and were now Gods know where. She had known where they were the second before they were attacked, but how were they to know how far off the path they had gone?

It was almost an hour before they collected all their lost gear (and managed to bind Jon's broken strap together again, not to mention their severed rope) and were ready to move out again. They had talked about what their next move was going to be (as soon as they oriented themselves) and decided they would be lucky if they didn't die out here, stuck between a raging freak storm and some crazy Wildling crossbreeds.

If they could find the wolves bodies that had been there five days prior, than that would be there luck for the day. Or had it been their luck that Arya fell into that hole? or maybe it was the fact that they had been tied together by the rope?—otherwise Jon would have been lost to her than for sure.

Keeping an eye out, very much watchful now, they moved and together they covered their six as best as possible as blinded and lost as they were. They had followed the trail of their lost gear to its starting point as best they could and they worked from there.

They were probably going to have to make camp (having been walking and fighting for half-a-day), but it seemed more dangerous out here than ever before (and was something that neither of them wanted to do until they had no other choice).

Jon found their location after his snowshoe caught on something in the snow and he almost did the splits.

"What happened?" she asked, stopping next to his as he righted himself and bent over to pull whatever it had been from the snow. They probably wore the same shocked/surprised look under the scarves as they looked down at the empty, re-seal, plastic package from her elk jerky that Jon had left behind after their encounter with the three dead grey wolves and the big albino wolf that Jon dubbed Ghost. "Yes!" she crowed, punching the air in front of her with her right hand, having shouldered her rediscovered Remington. Never had she been so happy to have lost all her jerky.

"We're _there_?" he asked. Meaning the sight of the wolf encounter.

"Yep."

He looked up from the plastic wrapper and she could see the crinkle of his brown eyes behind the amber goggles and from the shine of her headlamp. "I guess you're not so pissed about it now, are you?" he murmured. This time referring to the fact that he had left all her jerky behind.

She laughed. "Not even close! Now lets get back to the tower."

He nodded and tucked the wrapper into his parka pocket as he started to turn. He barely saw the fast moving shadow from the corner of his eye, a yelp from Arya and was then jerked back a step as Arya was tackled to the ground, the rope snapping at its previous broken and then recently mended cut point.

"Arya!" he screaming, bring up his Colt Le901 Carbine rifle to bear as he turned around to find her struggling on the ground by with another Wildling. He tried to get a sight on it, but the two of them were moving around to much and he was afraid that he would shoot Arya by mistake, getting farther away—and that was when he was tackled from behind.

His legs were taken out and he hit the snow with his front, his rifle trapped between him and the ground as a shot fired against his will from the Colt as his finger squeezed the trigger involuntarily in his fall. His heart stopped in fear that he had hit Arya in the miss-fire.

He struggled to hear for any sign that the shot found soft-target flesh or not, but it was hard to hear anything for the howling wind and the blood rushing in his ears as adrenaline pumped his heart hard. The weight of the creature on his back kept him pinned as it grabbed his head and was trying to drown/suffocate him in the snow, his pack working against him.

He had almost been killed by one of these things not even two hours ago, and now another was trying for his head again. He didn't have Arya to back him this time around, her busy with her own at the moment, he was going to have to take care of this himself—and damned if he was going to let this thing kill him and leave her out here alone with two on her hands.

…

It had her pinned to the ground, the pack underneath her, making her back arch awkwardly as she struggled to block the strikes from its boney hands as it struck and clawed at her face. She'd lost her Remington _again_ (Tanner was going to kill her when he found out, that was if it didn't get her killed before that).

Her headlamp beam flashed across its snarling face, making it known that it was a woman that was trying to kill her with furs, ratted long dark hair, cold grey skin and pointed teeth just like the other one. She didn't need the light to discern its dimly lit glowing blue eyes.

The shot from Jon's Colt scared the shit out of her and her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if Jon was okay or if he was similarly occupied at the moment, but the loud report didn't even seem to phase the Wildling on top of her. It was making creepy animal noises as it struggled to claw her face off with its blackened, jagged nails. It had already managed to rip her scarf away, but at least her eyes were protected by the amber goggles.

Arya grabbed a thin wrist, and strained to keep it contained as its other hand clawed at her. She turned her face away and swung her arm, landing a punch in the side of its head, but it didn't see do much of anything. She managed to get her leg free and threw her leg up, able to get her boot (having lost the same snowshoe because of the broken buckle) in front of its thigh and shoved, unbalancing the Wildling and rolling them so that their positions were reversed. It was hard work, the creature didn't go willingly.

Arya's face was smothered in it single fur clad chest as it got its hand free and had her locked in a deadly embrace, trying to suffocate her, if it didn't end up breaking her neck first. Arya punched at it with gloved hands, struggling for breath, but like with the head-shot, it didn't seem to be doing much. She supposed that after living out here all your life, a punch wasn’t much compared to all else that was endured to have survived this long. The furs came away in the struggle as they rolled again, and Arya was back on the bottom once more, her mouth pressed against the wrinkled flesh of it grey coloured breast, growing dizzy. The cold didn’t even seem to affect any of them.

She forewent with her strikes and reached down for her Glock, but this time she had lost it. She went for her other leg, for the dagger that had killed that second Wildling and saved Jon, but with an arm still wrapped around the back of her head, it grabbed her arm. She struggle to get her right hand free, her striking blindly for a vulnerable spot in its naked torso before it wrenched her arm back painfully before ploughing her backward into the snow—into what felt like a hidden rock of ice.

It left her winded and dazed, and it tore at her parka, trying to get at her. It was as this was happening to her, as it was mauling her, that she remembered something that she had read in _Wildlings Culture and Beliefs_ about the northern-most of the Wildling Clans. A small pocket of them that lived on the boarder of the Land of Always Winter, that were called the Ice-river clans. They were the most despised of all the Clans because they were cannibals, they ate their own people, sometimes from their own camp but most of the time from their neighbouring Clans. This group never sought refuge in the Seven Kingdoms. She though about this Wildling's teeth, how they were filed to points (probably better to eat people with, dear), and believed that this would be the most likely candidate for a White Walker breeding program.

Glowing blue eyes and sharp-pointed teeth, these things didn't need anything else. Why did she have to have this revelation too late? These creatures were half-breeds of the White Walkers, and they consumed human flesh. Her and Jon were human, and her and Jon were flesh.

…

The scarf on his face was both helping and hindering him. He tried to roll, but the weight on his shoulders was too great. He tried to buck it off of him, but the weight at the back of his head gave him no leeway. He couldn't reach for his Glock that may or may not still be at his thigh, his one arm trapped under him with his rifle, the other locked into mobility with the pressure at his shoulder. _Was Arya still alive? I can't die like this_ , he kept thinking even at it was happening.

Was this the Old Gods' plan for them all along? To bring them together, tear them apart, then have them find each again, only to die in this frozen place at the hands of these creatures in this freak storm, so close to each other yet so far away? He couldn't understand it, after everything, after all of it, for it to end like this.

And then maybe it was like the Old Gods heard his prayer, his fear, because the weight on his back and head was suddenly lifted away. He jerked himself upward, freeing his freezing face from the snow and scarf, gasping for breath. And an instant later he remembered the Wildling and rolled over, bringing his Carbine up and at the dark form in the snow about ten feet away from him. Confusion took him, why had it let up on him? He was aimed at it, not about to take any chances, about to pull the trigger when the growling and tearing noise reached his ringing ears through the winding wind and made his pause.

What the fuck was that?

It stopped a moment later and he directed the light at him hip (that somehow managed to stay undamaged) at the form in the snow. Red eyes flashed above it, and the beam cut through the falling snow to reveal the rest of the owner. Dark eyes replaced the red ones, black nose and lips smeared with dripping blood, the beast a creature of white, its edges blurring in with the blowing snow.

It stepped from the mound of the still and dead body of the Wildling that had nearly succeeded in killing him. As it stalked towards him, for whatever reason, he lowered his rifle. That same feeling that had made him give kindness to this wolf at their first encounter, was the same that stayed his hand. His breath stuck in his throat as it stopped but a few feet from him. Their eyes locked, dark brown to a lighter tone. It was so close that Jon could see the billows of steam that blew from its nostrils before the wind swept it away, could smell the death on its breath.

The beast had saved him for whatever reason, but would it change its mind equally fast and rip his throat out all the same? But he supposed he wouldn't get the chance to know as he remembered something more important.

"Arya!!"

Ghost's pointed ears flicked at his sudden yell and let out a howl and just as fast as the animal appeared, it disappeared into the falling snow, but not in the same direction that it had come. Jon scrambled to his feet at ran after it, ran towards where he had seen her disappear to last.

…

She thought she heard her name, heard Jon calling to her but she couldn't be sure with the blood rushing in her ears, with the lively howling on the wind.

Saliva dripped from its lips against her cold cheek. It had her arms pinned on either side of her, really intent, it seemed, upon eating her face like some B-movie zombie shit. Whatever she hit her head on was hard as hell and seemed to have done the trick, whatever it was, and fuzzed her out. She tried to fight against the half-breed, but it was like her limbs wouldn't cooperate with her, like she was a small infant who couldn't control anything yet.

She felt teeth graze her exposed cheek and squeezed her eyes shut tight, a disgruntled noise leaving her tight pressed lips. And then nothing happened. It took her a minute to realize that her face was completely intact and that she was no longer restrained. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She found herself alone, laying in the snow. She reached for her leg and found the hilt of her dagger, just about to pull it out when Jon jumped through the curtain of snow and falling at her side.

"Arya! Are you alright?!" he gasped, all but groping her to check for any injuries.

If he had been a few seconds later, she might have stabbed him with her freed knife, popping out of nowhere like that. "I'm fine," she groaned. "What the fuck, did you take it out?" She held out an arm with a torn sleeve and he pulled her into the up-right-and-locked position.

"Not exactly," he said.

"What do you mean? Either you took it out, or it ran away—so which is it?" She rubbed the frozen spit from her cheek as she looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her, but beyond her into the falling snow. "Jon?" She looked in the same direction as him, trying to see what he was seeing, what had him so hypnotised. She adjusted her askew headlamp and the small beam managed to cut through a thin sheet of falling snow and spotlight on the shadow of the half-breed in the snow and the white ghost that appeared to be taking a piece of the action.

"W..."

He still held onto her. "Shh,"

"Is that—"

"Ghost." He murmured.

Arya looked back at Jon with a disbelieving expression before she looked back at the beast tearing into the greyed flesh of the woman who had tried to consume her in turn beforehand. Just desserts, it was called, wasn't it? Don't get others to partake in something you won't do yourself, or something along those lines?

"But why?"

"Bet you're glad that I feed the animals, now, too, huh?" was all he said.

She looked back at him. "You're kidding! Because you gave it my elk jerky?!"

He shrugged. "I guess it really likes elk."

"I'd say so." She started nodding her head, but then something occurred to her. "I hope its not expecting more, that was all I had."

Snowflakes caught on his dark beard. "You don't?" worry started to creep into his own voice. But then he shook his head and a small sile touched his lips. "No. I think it just a favour returned sort of thing."

"I hope you're right." She murmured doubtfully.

Jon helped Arya to her feet, and the cracking of bones about ten feet away came to a stop. She froze and looked back in the direction of the albino wolf as almost like a mirage it moved through the snow until in was hardly 5-feet away.

"Don't worry, Ghost won't hurt us." Jon said, holding her upper arm in his gloved hand, his Colt handing from his shoulder by its strap.

"What makes you so sure?" she questioned from the side of her mouth, not taking her eyes off the large and deadly animal that had previously taken out three wolves and now two half-breeds with no problem it seemed (its wounds from its last encounter seeming to have healed since they last saw each other).

"It's just a feeling," he told her.

She might have doubted it if it came from someone else other than Jon, but his voice held such conviction. "That's reassuring,"

"Shh,"

She bit her tongue, him doing that was really starting to piss her off even though she knew that he wasn't doing it to push her buttons. She stayed quiet as Ghost and Jon seemed to be having an intense moment, their gazes locked through the snow before Jon murmured _thank you_ and Ghost let out a _yap_ sound and then vanished into the whiteout.

She remembered her own last encounter with a dog (though Ghost was anything but _just_ a _dog_ ), and felt beat of sadness as she remembered Nymeria's fait all because she had taken it into her head that being with her was better than on the streets. If it hadn't been for Arya, Nymeria might have still been alive.

She looked up at him standing close to her. "Can we get the fuck out of here for real this time?"

"No argument from me."

Arya turned and promptly tripped over the thing buried in the snow that first time. "What the hell!"

"Are you okay?" Jon asked, his tone filled with laughter as pushed herself up and turned around. She ignored him and started digging at the thing that was buried in the snow. "What's that?"

She stopped after she cleared away enough of the snow to discern exactly what it was under all that white. Somehow, they had circled back around and ended up back to the same spot. "A wolf," she said.

"Okay, let's really get out of here, now."

It was truly night-time this time around as they collected all their lost and scattered gear. Jon's pack strap was really fucked this time around, and the buckle on her snowshoe wasn't salvageable in the field like this, her handheld flashlight was damaged, she lost her scarf in the scuffle and her parka was torn, her knee was starting to protest; but they managed to find everything again, and re-tied their attached rope again (it ending up shorter this time). They got their bearings, and started for the light-boundary and watchtower again despite the fact that they were shit-tired and hadn't slept or eaten in the last 24/h.

—

Arya cried out in relief and Jon did the same as the watchtower finally came into their view. Their luck held out through the way; they weren't attacked again by the half-breeds. That either meant that all in the raiding party were killed or they moved on to other targets.

Either way, the pair was hungry, tired, and ready to collapse, but they forced themselves into a patrol immediately around the tower to make sure nothing had gone amiss since their leave. Nothing did, so the finally climbed the outside stairs and into the 3rd floor of the tower.

When they got to the watchroom it was dark and cold, the fire in the pit having long since burned out before their return. Fire relit and huddled around it together, eating double rations of their MREs, she told Jon her thoughts on the matter of their attackers as they filled their empty bellies and tried to get the chill in their bones to subside.

Despite the fact that the other Clans stayed clear of the Ice-river clans, if there was a Wildling uprising, it would due to have all the allies you could, right? It just wouldn't make sense if they didn't try and get all the bodies and support that they could even if they were outcast cannibal half-breeds.

He agreed with her thoughts on the matter.

Wildling go missing all the time. Lost on a Hunt. Stolen away in the night by hungry animals. So if some where taken away in the night by some White Walkers for breeding, who would know the difference?

After eating, they did the best-2-out-of-5 in a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would take the watch while the other rested, to be awakened in six-hour to take over.

As Arya lay on the cot, the crackle of the fire and the howling wind outside muffled for the walls, she found herself thinking back once again to the first time she had been in the Beyond with Jon, and Wight that circled them around the weirwood grove—was that what it actually was? A Wight? Or could it really have been a Wildling-White Walker Half-breed?

She didn't think that she would ever know, but some other things were rather apparent—They needed this storm to fucking end, and they needed to get this news back to the Wall before things got even more out of hand and it was too late.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:
> 
> Wildlings(2) = A small pocket of separated clans called the Ice-river clans live northern-most of all the other Clans, right at the boarder of the Land of Always Winter. They are hated and despised (and avoided) because they partake in cannibalism; sometimes each other, but mostly other Wildlings from the other Clans. It appears that they are breeding with White Walkers, creating half-breeds with glowing blue eyes.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Arya comes to the conclusion that the Wildlings attacking her and Jon are actually a cross-breed between Wildlings (from a clan called the Ice-river clans that live right on the boarder of the Land of Always Winter) and the White Walkers [the glowing blue eyes being their dominant feature].  
>  ~ Ghost returns to the scene of their first meeting and saves both Jon and Arya's lives by taking out the third and fourth Wildling-White Walker half-breeds. It seems a returned favor for Jon giving it Arya's elk jerky during their first meeting about five days previous._


	13. Chapter 12

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 12:_ —

Arya found herself once more on the second floor in the safe-room/prisoner-hold. An oil lamp lit the dark space, casting it in a soft glow that countered with the decaying body of their first Wildling-White-Walker half-breed attacker. Though it was cool in the isolated room, it was nowhere as freezing as it was outside, thus nature was taking advantage to do its thing. It was starting to smell and this wasn't the first time that she thought about getting Jon to help her drag it outside and lock it up in the dog kennel next to the garage.

It was her sixth time down here in the 24h that her and Jon had gotten back from their stupid stint outside which resulted in them getting attacked as a whole, three times in three separate events. Not to mention the three other times at the tower that they had nearly been their end hours before they left the relative safety of the watchtower. She didn't know why she kept coming down here, it was doing no one any good, looking at the body that hadn't moved since they locked it behind the bars.

They hadn't been outside since but to patrol immediately around the watchtower as a pair in case, by chance, there was another attack. Though she wasn't sure how many bodies exactly there were that came through under the Fence at their boundary, it felt as if four was all there was—why else would only four attack and another not? If there was going to be more groups coming, if this had been the first wave, that still remained unseen. She just had hopes that if there was more to come, they would get the radio to work and some reinforcements up here before then.

They weren't going to talk about the fact that her and Jon had taken to using a bucket as the latrine with a little heave-ho over the side of the balcony. All the wonders at the Wall and they couldn't bother putting indoor plumbing in the watchtowers that lined the Fence, even an outhouse would have been a gift—but all she kept thinking was that at least they had their biodegradable toilet paper.

She crouched in front of the bars, the oil-flame flickering slightly inside its glass encasement, almost making it look alive again with movement. "What are you looking at, you ugly bastard?" she muttered at the decaying brown eyes of the half-breed that seemed to look at her directly, the dark bullet wound on its forehead almost looking like a third eye, one that only portrayed darkness. It didn't answer her of course, but it wasn't like she was expecting it to...

The overhead hidden trapdoor from the third floor creaked open and she looked back over her shoulder as Jon descended in the soft glow of the lamp from the darkness of the storage compartment. After the first three times of finding her down here and commenting, he found there was no point because it wasn't going to change anything.

"Hey," she turned back to the cell.

"The storm finally cleared away enough that I was able to get a signal through on the phone!" he told her happily, coming to a stop at her left shoulder, smiling down at her.

"It about fucking time," she breathed. "Did you tell STB all the shit that's happened?" She popped up onto her feet, hardly feeling the twinge in her previously injured left knee.

"Yeah, and they didn't sound too happy about it."

"As much as we are, I would presume." She comment dryly.

He ignored her tone and her comment. "A unit and superior officer are on the way to take over; he said that this wasn't the only attack either."

"No shit? Fuck." She groaned, her arms crossed over her recently mended parka. "I wish it had just been us. This means that these bastards are actually trying to start something."

"Are you thinking that this is part of the Wildlings attack plan to take-over the Wall?" he asked, definitely thinking along the same lines that she had been. "The first wave?"

"Hells yes! Testing the waters is what they're doing, catching us off balance." She spat at the body through the bars in disgust.

"Our orders were to keep on our toes."

She snorted. "That's a given."

"Either way, it's good advice. If this really is happening right now, the second tier attack is going to happen soon, probably before reinforcements get all the way out here. It'll be at least 42 hours before they get here—and that's if they push it. The storm might have died down, but the tail is still over the Beyond."

"I guess it's just the waiting game, then," she muttered. "The worse game in the world."

—

They sat at the fire, playing a game of crazy-eights (they found the deck of old and worn cards when they searched their supplies for another scarf to replace Arya's lost one) when the tone in the wind changed. They shared a look and got to their feet, their respective rifles in hand. The security monitors were still down due to the lightning strike, but they had other ways to see what was happening outside. Hidden look-out windows were placed strategically on the walls, that could also be used as firing-holes. West, North, and East were cleared of movement in the ever-blowing wind and lighter sheet of flurries. There was no more hail, and just the occasional boom of the thunder and flash of lightning touching down to earth, though the sky was still choked with clouds, they were no longer so dark and ominous—even nice enough to let a dim glow of the sun be known through their bodies in an act of concedance of the storm finally coming to its wits end.

"Hey," Jon called her over. "I see movement back here."

"What kind of movement?" she came over and he shifted to allow her to look through the gap as well.

"I don't know, but it's getting closer to the tower."

Arya glanced at her watch briefly, noting the midday time. "It could be the reinforcements—the time-line fits."

"Just in case it's not, be ready." He told her.

"Oh, you can always count of that. If it's not the unit, then those bastards will be sorry that they ever laid their glowing blue eyes on me because I'm gonna blast their fucking heads off!" She growled.

Jon sent her a raised brow, but said nothing and went back to his watch out the hole. "Two snowmobiles with two passengers each, and an arctic cat, but I'm not sure how man occupants just yet." He said as they drove through the curtain of falling snow and around the garage in a scattered pattern as to not be predictable targets.

"Alright, let's do this!" She pulled back the bolt-action on her Remington and guided it back again.

Jon nodded. "I'll lead and you cover me."

She nodded in agreement back.

They made sure they were locked and loaded with their gear down in the storage unit and positioned themselves at the door. Jon released all the security and opened it. The wind that blasted Arya as she cleared the east-side and stairs as Jon covered her in turn, was not as fierce as it had been when they first ventured out into the storm for their patrol nearly three days before hand.

"Okay."

Jon went, his Glock out, the strap of his Colt LE901 Carbine on his shoulder. She stayed a flight behind him, both covering him and the surrounding area.

They touched down onto the snow, the worn trail that lead to the doors of the garage on the south-side of the tower long since been filled with freshly fallen snow. Keeping in the same position, the re-forged the trail as they came around to the south-side.

She could see by the markings on their white parkas that two of the officers were from Shadow Tower/Hawks, but the other two from the second snowmobile were from Castle Black/Crows, and the one that had gotten out of the arctic cat was as well. There were more officers in the cat, she knew, but not why they chose to stay inside.

"Corporals Snow and Stark," one of the Crows, a tall man, stepped forward and pulled the scarf from his face and moved the goggles to his forehead. "What bloody mess did you get yourselves into, then?"

Jon snapped off a sharp salute, standing at attention as he recognized his R.O. "Colonel Halfhand, sir."

Arya quickly followed his example. "Sir." She had never met Qhorin before, but she knew him for who he was by name alone.

Qhorin was where Benjen used to be before he took his promotion of Lord Commander and took control of the Wall. He was Second in Command of the Wall, but still continued to train Jon. He pushed his hood back despite the blowing wind loaded with stinging flakes. He had salt and pepper short hair with a thin braided tail at the nape of his neck, grey eyes, his face weathered and cheeks covered in stubble, his upper lip a moustache and his chin a goatee. He was another legend at the Wall, but in a different way that Tanner was known. He was about Ned's age, but no less active. He was an elite scout and soldier, a half-breed of his own regard; half-Crow, half-Hawk.

"Perimeter check." He ordered, ignoring them and the second Crow and one of the Hawks made off into the blowing snow. "Unload the supplies," and the last Hawk and the Crow that had stepped from the arctic cat started to unload the containers from the hitches at the back of the two snowmobiles and take them up the stairs. "Your hold has an occupant?" he finally questioned, glancing at Jon.

"Yes, sir, but—"

"One more shouldn't be a problem then." He interrupted. He turned half-way around and made a hand-signal at the arctic cat. Both her and Jon looked behind the man through the blowing snow to the terrain vehicle and watched as the side door was open. Two figures both clad in snow gear, both were of almost equal height, but one was in restraints, their arms bound behind their back, a blindfold covering their eyes, and one was not.

"Sir—" Arya started but stopped as the pair grew closer and she spotted the red hair that stuck out the side of the slighter person's hood.

It wasn't Jon or Qhorin that stopped Arya from putting a few bullets into who she realized was Ygritte, but the fact that it was Tanner that was the one that was escorting her towards the tower. Despite the amber goggles, the look he sent her didn't lose its bottomless-ness.

She stilled herself at the silent reprimand (that was promised to be dealt out later) and forced herself to loosen her grip on her Remington. Her and Jon had been right, the shit was seriously going to hit the fan—and soon. To have the Second in Command here, and someone of Tanner's particular skills could mean nothing but that, and what the fuck was Ygritte doing here?

Qhorin started after the pair, and the two Crows-in-training followed behind.

Arya opened the cell and Tanner shoved the blindfolded woman in none-to-gently much to the teen’s secret delight, and watched as she tripped over the decaying half-breed corpse that had been there for almost 72 hours. She rolled over onto her back and sat up, kicking at the corpse and shoving it away against the bars. Arya locked the gate back up and Qhorin and Tanner both stepped up silently and peered down at the corpse.

The two officers shared a look before they stood up again and went up to the storage and them up again to the watchroom. Arya was the last one out and she couldn't help but send a satisfied look to the blinded Ygritte behind the bars with the corpse as better company that the Wildling bitch deserved.

Jon stoked the fire as they stood around the pit and took the gear off their respective faces as the other officers completed their perimeter check and unloaded their much needed supplies.

And that was where they debriefed.

When the first two kills were mentioned, Tanner gave her an appraising look, but with the last two, not so much. They didn't seem to have a hard time believing the partners about the glowing blue eyes, so Arya told them her theory on the matter.

"There was a lightning strike and it took out the cameras. They were useless in the storm anyways," Jon said. "But we could use them now that the storm’s going to be done."

"This storm ain't finished yet, Snow." Qhorin told him gruffly. "She's just taking a break before she comes back kickin' an' screamin' her head off. It looks like we got here just in time, though."

Arya bit her tongue from blurting the first response to that fact that came to mind. That mean's that they were going to be stuck here for even longer. She was sure she had been out here so long that she was starting to forget to live any other way.

The other officers finally came up from their walk-about and reported a clear perimeter, and the other two were finally done with the supplies.

She wondered what they must look like to these other officers; if the ones that they had relieved had looked as bad as they did after a week, she couldn't fathom what her a Jon must be like after a week and three days and after all that they had been through. No showers, no proper meals, non-existent sleep times.

"The Wildlings are sure to attack during this second storm-front," Qhorin informed the entire unit. "Other watchtowers were attack by these half-breeds, we've gotten similar reports. Extra units have all been dispatched to the towers as well and should all arrive before the storm hits again." He turned to his gathered men. "Karp, Firechip, watch on the balcony; Joker, Crash, I want you two at that hole in the Fence."

"Yes, sir." The four men replied, and respectively went to their tasks, in the same configurement as before, a Crow and a Hawk to each pair.

"Sir," Arya started and after a moment Qhorin glanced over at her with intense grey eyes that flickered in the fire light. Despite the fact that Tanner was sending death her way, she needed to know. "What of the prisoner? Why did you bring her out here for?... Sir."

"Night Wolf, the Lord Commander thought that she would be a good bargaining chip if the need ever arose, seeing as we're about to go to war."

"Why would they care about her?" Jon's voice was tight.

"Obviously they trust her very much and believe she is a very capable woman." Tanner finally spoke for the first time since they arrived. "To believe that she could pull of such a large scale undercover mission for the past three years, gathering information and managing a way to report back to her people."

"Benjen always suspected, so we were on to her from the start and able to manipulate some of the information that she passed on. But it wasn't until this last week while you both were out here that we found out who she truly was," Qhorin allowed.

"What do you mean 'truly?'" Arya questioned, not at all liking how this was sounding. Of course she knew that Benjen suspected something and had Tanner shadow Ygritte, he had told her that himself, she just didn't realized that it had been going to for these last three years... but Qhorin saying this shit about the who the bitch _truly_ was, made her gut tighten up like a heated plastic.

Qhorin's voice didn't alter in gruffness or tone as he said, "Ygritte is the self-proclaimed King-in-the-North Mance Raider's daughter, Princess Ygritte."

"What?!" both her and Jon exclaimed.

"What the fu—!" she started, but this time Tanner shut her up with a pop to her ear. That shut her up real fast and she covered her assaulted ear with her hand and put up a submitted posture. Qhorin said nothing and Jon looked between them tight-lipped. Her face was hot with embarrassment; it was one thing for him to do that when they were alone, but it seemed even worse now that he did it in front of Jon and Qhorin.

"Our reactions were much the same." Qhorin agreed quietly. "But all this mean's is that we know have one over on them that they don't know about—but that is exactly what we need to do—we need the Wildlings, Mance Raider, to know that we have his daughter... it is the only way we can use her against them and to our own advantage."

Arya shot a quick glance at Tanner, and he gave an imperceptible nod. She straightened herself and looked at Qhorin, refusing to feel humiliated. "How are we supposed to do that? The only way would be to go out there, beyond the Fence and have the hope that we find Mance Raider and inform him that we have his daughter... and what? we just hope that he surrenders? And that's assuming that he cares enough about her to stop this attack against the Wall."

"All good points," Qhorin nodded his head slowly, his braided tail curled around the nape of his neck and snaking around his square jaw. "And that is exactly what we are going to do."

"Y—" She literally bit her tongue to stop her outburst, tasting the copper fill her mouth, she swallowed it and kept silent.

"Sir," Jon spoke up. "How do you suppose we do that, if, as you say, another storm is on its way?"

A light flashed briefly in the older man's eyes at his student's observation; Arya wondered what it was like to get such easy praise from her mentor.

"We haven't just been letting the Wildlings have free reign out here, we've scent Hawks out to spy on their camps, gather Intel—long before even this started. It's always been that way, but now, we have a turned Wildling."

 _A turned Wildling?_ Arya thought. Was that even possible? She knew that she wouldn't turn against her own for anything, so how loyal could this Wildling be that he was so pliable to turn against his own? She couldn't believe it even if she saw it.

"You can't really believe that, can you, sir? I mean, how trust-worthy can this Wildling be if he can so easily be swayed to his enemies side?" apparently the clapped-ear left a short impression on her.

But unlike Tanner, Qhorin looked amused. "Quiet a soldier you have, Tanner, not afraid to speak her mind."

"Yes, sir." Tanner didn't seemed pleased and Arya knew that she was going to get it later.

"Of course," the salt-and-peppered man continued, "There is no way in this life or any other to be sure of anyone's complete loyalty, just like so many things in the known world. Sometime's you just have to go with your gut on things. But trust us when we say," his grey eyes glanced briefly at Tanner, "that this Wildling is on our side, for the time being, at least. So, why don't you go and ask them yourself, Night Wolf?"

Both Arya and Jon couldn't stop the confusion on that.

"What do you mean?" Jon wondered.

"They're here?" she couldn't stop herself from glancing around the room that she had once thought crowded with just her and Jon, but now knew that was false with the four of them and then the eight of them briefly taking up the space. She had the absurd belief that she might have missed somebody.

He gave her a long look, such a long one that she thought she was having a stroke as his fingertips grazed over his goatee. "Yes. She'd two floors under us."

This was one of the more deafening silences that Arya had experienced. It was almost like she was actually deaf. She couldn't hear the constant howling of the wind outside that never let up for a second. She couldn't hear the crackle of the fire, nor anyone's breath, not even her own—just that utter silence that made her temples start to thump.

Jon seemed to be in a similar condition of his own, but blood rushed through his ears when he heard this, as his heart raced. This was... he couldn't believe... was it... could he?

Hearing this, that Ygritte had come onto their side after plotting all these years against them was just too unbelievable. How could Benjen be this naive? It sickened her, all the respect that she had for these incredible men just sunk to a all-time low—they were all the same!

She clenched her jaw. Instead of going hot with anger, she went a cold, a dead kind of cold. She said nothing as she turned from the fire and walked over to the trapdoor that lead to the storage compartment below.

"Arya?" Jon asked finally; the look in her grey eyes worried him on the fact that there was no look, there was nothing in them. He looked to his Ranking Officers; he knew that they had seen a look by they were doing nothing to stop her. "Arya!" he ran to the trapdoor as she descended into the darkness of the unoccupied room.

She navigated her way through the stacked supplies in complete darkness, she had been doing it all week; she didn't need a light to see her way. Of course, with the new supplies that the other officers brought with them changed the layout just a bit, enough that she nearly knocked over a whole stack, but it didn't stall her for long. She could hear Jon rushing after her, but he seemed to be having a bit more trouble than her, and she got to the passage to down-below first and quickly descended, shutting it after her. She climbed halfway down and then jumped the rest of the way, landing on her feet into the soft glow of the single oil lamp they had left burning down here.

She was going to kill the bitch just like she had told Tanner all those weeks ago. Ygritte was a mutt that needed to be put down before she could cause anymore trouble—everything else be damned.

"Arya, stop!" Jon rushed down after her, his landing not as solid as hers in his hast to catch up and stop her.

She went straight for the cell. She left her Remington up in the watchroom, but her Glock was better for these close-quarters anyways. She pulled it from its secure sight on her left thigh, and thumbed the safety off with her fleece clad thumb and brought it up. It took a second for her to find the older woman in the dim cell with the corpse; she was in the back corner, much where they had left her but something was off—before she could see what, Jon skidded to a stop in front of her; blocking both her view and aim.

"Move, Jon!"

"No, Arya, you can't kill her!" he had his hands out in front of him, almost like he could ward her off.

"I can't believe you." She looked at her partner in disbelief. "She's a traitor, and traitors hang!"

"You heard Qhorin—she'd on our side!" Jon told her.

Her gun wasn't wavering. It was odd pointing a loaded gun at him; even if she knew she could never actually shoot him. "And didn't you hear him say that loyalty can't truly be indiscernible. She was spying on us, giving information to the enemy. How can we trust her when the only reason she's 'with us' is because Tanner plied a little pressure on her. You're being stupid, Jon."

"We _need_ her, whether she's loyal to them or us, it doesn't matter because we _need_ her to win any kind of ground in this coming battle." Jon insisted, his own gaze not wavering from her, ignoring the Glock that was just a couple feet from his chest. "For our plan to work, we _need_ her—and she has to be _alive._ " He quickly added when the comment flashed through her grey gaze.

Arya clenched her jaw so hard that she thought it might crack, but it didn't. Oh, how bad she wanted to kill this woman it was like a physical pain inside of her. But she knew that the battle won was the battle avoided, and the only possible way was to use Ygritte as leverage, whether she was on the side of the Wall or the Wildlings. She slowly lowered the Glock and Jon let out a breath of relief; this didn't mean that she had to like it or that she didn't intend to kill her afterwards—but it wasn't like Jon necessarily had to know the specifics; he was a little quick to come to her defence though, even as Tanner and Qhorin weren't.

" _Aargh!"_ Arya growled in a brief bout of frustration before she brought her weapon around sharply and shoved in back into the holder hard.

He gave another visible sigh of relief as he looked at her, before turning around and looking into the cell at the bound and blindfolded Ygritte. Arya watched him for a second with gritted teeth before she took a step to the side and could see the Wildling princess herself—except that she wasn't bound and blindfolded like they had left her, somehow she had gotten out of her restraints while the unit had been debriefing two trapdoors up.

She was one tricky bitch and there was going to have to be a constant guard.

"Ygritte," Jon said in relief, seeing her.

"Jon," she murmured, stepping over the rotting corpse like it was an everyday thing and up to the bars. Now that her face was uncovered, Arya could see just what some of the things that Tanner had done to her and she felt a dark satisfaction in her.

"When Benjen told me..." he gave his head a rapid shake, his dark curls taken for the ride. "I couldn't believe it." He wrapped his hands around the bars and she reached forwards, tracing her fingertips over his gloved knuckles.

Now Arya really was going to kill her. Her right hand found the hilt of her hidden dagger, it would be quieter, better; but she was stopped when the two ROs decided to see what was happening and she forced her hand limp at her side. Jon quickly stepped back from the bars.

Tanner's dark eyes instantly found Arya, but Qhorin looked at Ygritte unbound without a single altercation to his hard-brushed expression. "We move out at 0400."

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I got through the first half okay, but had a little more trouble when I decided to stick Qhorin, Tanner, & Ygritte into the mix... just to make things overly complicated for myself (because I'm stupid like that; lol). **
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Qhorin was promoted to from Lieutenant Colonel to Colonel and has taken the position of Second in Command of the Wall under Lord Commander Benjen Stark, but unlike his predecessor, he has continued his active roll in personally training Crow Recruits, i.e. Jon and Ygritte. He is an elite scout (Hawk) and soldier (Crow).  
>  ~ Karp & Joker are Crows; Firechip & Crash are Hawks.  
> ~ Arya is Night Wolf; Jon is Lord Snow; Tanner is the Skull King; Qhorin if Grey Shadow.  
> ~ Ygritte, in the Wildling Clans, is the daughter of the self-proclaimed King-in-the-North Mance Raider, on all accounts, a princess. And is currently being held captive by the Wall to use as a bargaining chip (perhaps).  
> ~ Arya goes to the hold with the intent of putting Ygritte out of her own misery, but Jon steps in to defend the Wildling princess._


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Summary: Arya has been training as a Crow under Lt. Karl "The Skull King" Tanner's hard thumb for the past two-years. While out on a routine watch with her ex-partner Jon Snow at the Fence in the Beyond, things take a turn when it appears the Wildlings are mounting for an attack.

The Wall Academy:  
Elite Military Training Depot  
(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)

 _Chapter 13:_ —

Arya found herself in the worst possible position that she could have known—tethered to Ygritte the Wildling Wh--Princess. Apparently Qhorin and Tanner thought it was a bright idea to have the person who wanted Ygritte dead the most, guard her.

They were ready for their insane mission, everything was packed (they were limited to supplies that could be stowed in their packs, mainly MREs, water canteens, ammo, survival tarp and blanket, flares, etc.), and they mounted a few snow-gliders over to the Fence where Joker and Crash were keeping watch over the tunnel ten-feet beneath that the half-breeds had dug out in a impressive feat.

Jon and Arya were tasked with re-digging the hole with field-sized, retractable shovels, shoving all the snow that had filled the hole back up and clearing the way out, Ygritte being temporarily handed into the custody of Crash and Joker. It was tiring work, just shovelling out the snow in the tight space; as the smallest one, Arya was made to go into the hole first, and she wondered how the fuck those half-breeds had done this when it was frozen snow, not loose-packed snow that they were dealing with now.

She popped nothing but her head and upper torso through the other side of the hole like a groundhog covered in powder and cleared the immediate area on the other side of the Fence, before she called clear and Jon started to pass their supplies and gear through.

Arya wondered grudgingly why they couldn’t have used Ygritte as a mule, though she wasn't blind-folded, her hands were bound with a 14-inch length between them, and though she believed that to be a little too generous, it would be well enough for her to be in this hole instead of Arya, but instead the Wildling got to put her feet up.

It was nearly an hour before the tunnel was cleared and all the supplies trekked over. She pulled herself up onto the other side of the Fence. She had thought that it might feel different for whatever reason, but she felt all the same, her anger like a black mould in the corner, held in check for the time being. Jon crawled through next before Ygritte was sent through and Arya attacked them back together as Tanner and Qhorin came through last.

Joker and Crash would stay on the other side of the Fence, in the Beyond, to help guard the Fence along with Karp and Firechip. If everything that could go wrong did go wrong with their mission, it was Qhorin's crew that would stand between the Wildlings reaching the Wall.

When they got resettled on the other side of the Fence, in what was commonly and inaccurately called the Neutral Zone (what a joke!), Jon became tethered to the two woman as well and the three shared a snow-glider as Tanner took another, and Qhorin took the last, each man taking on a portion of their supplies.

She had to admit that she felt slightly better knowing that Jon was behind Ygritte who was behind herself; if the Wildling tried to pull some sneaky shit and take her out from behind, Jon had her covered. But she couldn't help but think back to how he reacted back when Arya made to kill her; he was a little too quick to jump to her defence when their ROs hadn’t even twitched a brow—but even then, she knew that Jon would never let her be killed (hopefully he would come around with some rational thoughts and soon).

Qhorin took the lead; Arya, Ygritte, Jon, the center; and Tanner the rear. The storm's second-wind hadn't quite revealed itself fully, and the sun tentatively reached out through the dark grey clouds with false hope, just in the subtle change in the wind it was obvious that it was near.

Arya had never been on the other side of the Fence, but it looked all the same to her, white, white, and more fucking white. But as they continued on, the way lit merely by their high-beam flashlights mounted on the handles of the snow-gliders as the sun was once again snuffed out as the wind picked up harshly, that the ground wasn't as level as she had first predicted. Sometimes she didn't even realize that they were going up-hill until she got to the other side and it was a quick transfer down the mounds of snow.

—

They happened upon a pretty good camp area, big rocks covered in accumulated snow drifts made for great shelter from the harshest of the wind. Even if they wanted to built a fire, in these conditions it was impossible; so they huddled in a tight circle and ate a MRE each, before they all bedded down.

Arya took first watch by choice; she wouldn't have been able to sleep right now anyways.

They transferred Ygritte over to Jon and she watched in disgust as they bedded down together, laying rather close. She knew that it was just for survival, for warmth, but when the woman had lowered her scarf to take a sip from the water canteen and sent a smug look the brunette way, Arya couldn't help the but seethe and think it was something else, too.

Before Tanner settled down himself, he grabbed her arm and turned her, blocking view of her from the others with his taller body and put their faces close. He forewent the scarf and whispered to her. And though the wind was much louder than him, she heard his murmured words anyways, and felt appropriately cold inside afterward.

Just because you are out here, doesn't mean you are free.

She found herself a position on top the covered rocks, one that allowed her a view of their close clustered camp, and after that. The second storm hadn't hit the yet, but would be on them by the time they broke camp and continued on their mission.

She kept ever vigilant, despite that watching the fat snow flakes fall and then dance around in a haphazard way was making her eyes ache and kinda tired at the same time, but she kept her eyes open, herself awake by thinking of what might happen were she to fall asleep and they were attacked; be it by Wildlings or half-breeds—and Ygritte sleeping so close to Jon. The thought made her angrier than was probably necessary, but it got the job done.

Two hours later, she was still and frozen, and would have fallen asleep right there at the end of the shift, if she didn't think it would kill her. She slid down from her perch on cramped legs, Qhorin taking her place.

After a glance towards Jon and his night companion, she made bed away from them and nearer her RO. Right now, she was finding Tanner of better company than Jon, and that spoke volumes. She fell asleep rather easily, all the work through the day finally dragging her under for a much needed rest.

Too soon, it felt, she's awoken and they ate briefly before heading out. She tethered herself back to Ygritte, in time for a water break. She’d done this in front of Jon and Tanner so many times over the years, that there was no mystery left, but against her will, her cheeks turned hot under her scarf as Ygritte pointedly watched her—so when it was the Wildlings turn, she did the same (not the most fun way to spend the morning).

The storm was on them, and visibility was cut in half.

"You try and pull something—lead us into a trap—and I'll put a knife in you nice and slow; got it?" Arya growled to her at their glider.

"Don't you worry, little troll. I'll hold yer hand th' whole way." Ygritte replied condescendingly.

"Just do as your told." She said, turning around.

This time, Arya's snow-glider was in the lead, with Qhorin and Tanner following behind the threesome.

Jon had held out a compass to her, but the older woman shook her head; these were her lands, even in a storm she knew them like the back of her hand. She guided Arya with pressured hand-signals on her shoulders.

Arya didn't know where they were headed, this were uncharted land for her. They weren't supposed to go beyond the Fence for a reason, and the deeper they went, the more on-edge she became. The blizzard became so severe that they were forced to make camp early. The had just come to a stop when she heard Jon's muffled cry of pain.

She reacted instantly, without thought. She didn't know if this was a planned ambush on Ygritte's part, but she couldn't take the chance that it wasn't. She smashed her elbow backwards, and even as it was blocked by raised arms, she was already bringing her left fist around.

She struck ribs as Ygritte used the length between her bound hands to her advantage, Arya kneed her in the thigh, making her stance falter. Arya felt it wrap around her neck; even through her parka and scarf, it was still dangerous. She needed to end this fast. Yrgritte was taller than her and she used it to her advantage and came up between her arms with an uppercut. It wasn't enough to knock the older woman out, but enough to daze her.

Arya dropped out of the lengths embrace and wrapped her arms around Ygritte's knees, pulling her to the snow. She scrambled onto the woman's chest, pinning her, even as she fought to reverse their position. Arya felt the strike to her cheek more than saw, half blinded by the snow and such, her right hand found and pressed on Ygritte's neck even as she was continually struck at. She brought her left fist back and punched through the Wildling's arms, and landed her mark—the nose. Ygritte grunted, but continued striking at Arya.

Arya leaned forward, adding more pressure to her neck, using the position to hinder the woman's strikes, before she grabbed the Glock from her thigh and did a glancing blow with the butt, before going again and landing a center shot on her forehead. Ygritte's resistance weakened, but only stopped completely when Arya struck her once more, and under her the woman went slack in her unconscious state; Qhorin said that they needed her alive, whether she was on the Wall's side or the Wildlings' side.

Their scuffle took no more than a minute, and Arya quickly turned around, looking for Jon and ignoring the cold satisfaction at the unconscious princess beneath her. "Jon!" he was in the snow, clutching at his leg. She crawled from Ygritte to him, the short few feet distance making her binding with the unconscious prisoner taunt. She looked open-mouth at the red splotch on the white snow pants, and the shaft that protruded from the side of the young man's left thigh.

She heard loud pops and knew that they were gunfire, but she focused on Jon for the moment as she pulled the scarf from her face (feeling cold instantly cling to the exposed flesh, and sting of the whipping snow) and used it to tie around the shaft of the arrow to keep it in place, they were going to have to cut it out later when they had the time. Wildlings weren't known for poisoning their weapons, it contaminated their meat, so she wasn't worried about that; she just needed to stop this bleeding.

"I'm going to have to break it," Arya told him.

His soft brown eyes were tinted with pain and he shouted through clenched teeth as he clutched his thigh, "Just do it!"

"It's gonna hurt like hell." She'd never been shot before, by bullet or arrow, so she couldn't say she knew exactly how deep in hell the pain really was, but she could suspect—she held the bottom of the shaft nearest his flesh to hold it steady and snapped the shaft no thicker than her index finger.

Jon grunted harshly at the action, but made no further noise as he gasped for breath. She made sure that the scarf was tight, both acting as a binding and bandage.

She couldn't believe that the Wildlings (not half-breed because they didn't seem to need weapons) thought it was a good idea to shoot arrows in a blizzard. For all they knew, the arrow that found Jon could have just as easily altered seven inches in the wind and hit Ygritte instead; it was a bold choice, but it wasn't like they had guns or anything.

"You good?" she ignored the blood that now covered her gloves—Jon's blood.

"Yeah." At the moment the wound was going to hinder him, but not kill him; in the long run, without proper treatment, the same couldn't be said. "What the hell is going on?"

"We're being attacked," Arya explained, shrugging out of her rifle strap, and pulling the bolt action as she looked out into the blizzard, searching for the enemy, for the target. "Wildlings, most like, look at the arrow you so generously allowed to use your thigh as a mark."

"Where are Qhorin and Tanner?" he questioned her instead, pulling his Glock from his thigh, thumbing the safety off, and cocking it, his other bloodied stayed at his injured thigh.

"I don't know," she admitted, keeping her eyes trained outside of them, though she could still hear the occasion pop of a gun being fired, they seemed to be fainter. "By the sound of it, they seemed to be moving—and not closer."

Jon nodded. "Ygritte?"

"I couldn't take the risk, so I knocked her out."

Jon didn't protest like she might have expected from the way he had been acting since they found out that Ygritte may or may not be the enemy (that fact was still on the fence), (but maybe this finally turned him around), but all his said in an even voice was, "Alright."

She gave him a brief glance but couldn't discern anything from his expression hidden behind the goggles and scarf. "Cover me, okay?"

"Sure."

She shouldered her Remington again, it resting next to the pack on her back as she turned back to the redheaded Wildling. The woman was still unconscious and Arya dragged her the short distance back onto the board of the snow-glider. Both her and Jon knew that they had to move, an arrow had already found them, and they couldn't risk a second. Once she made sure the unconscious Ygritte wouldn't roll off, she helped her injured partner on as well.

"If she starts waking up, hit her again, okay? We can figure out whether she's really on our side or theirs later," he just nodded and gestured east-south-east, away from the direction of where the arrow was fired from, but not completely back tracking and where they might encounter one of their comrades instead of walking into more enemies. "We gotta find cover and wait out this blizzard, and then we can get our bearings."

Jon covered their six as she got her snowshoe clad boots under her and started to slowly push-turn the combined weight of a grown man and woman on the snow-glider in the direction that they wanted through the blizzard. The pops of gunshot had gone from infrequent to nonexistent, and she didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing; if their ROs had killed off the enemy, or if it was the other way around.

Arya used the adrenaline that flowed through her to her advantage, ignoring her knee, the smooth surface of the snow making to easier on her. She wasn't sure how long she had been pushing for before they found some coverage from the blizzard, just that it was long enough that Ygritte started to wake up, and after a moment, Jon knocked her out cold again.

It seemed like a natural dip in the land with a snow-covered ice overhang, provided some natural cover. Arya cleared the immediate area before they settled down.

She made sure that Ygritte was secure before she knelt beside Jon. "How's the pain?" she asked, turning on her headlamp and directing the short beam at his injured leg.

"It only hurts when I move," he replied blandly, his voice laced with pain.

She took off the pack from her back and fished out the small field first aid kit. "Here." She gave him four aspirins and the water canteen. "This should at least take the edge off. Sorry, but we can't risk anything stronger."

He just nodded and pulled his scarf from his face and greedily drank the tablets down, any bit of relief was welcome. She took off her outer gloves, leaving her in her more manageable fleece pair; and he grunted through his clenched teeth as she carefully untied the blood-sodden scarf wrapped around the arrow shaft and around his thigh.

"So, how does it look, doc?" he gasped as she inspected the flesh through the tear in his snow pants. The blood that had already soaked through was frozen, but the wound still seeped blood.

The arrow didn't go all the way through, which might not sound like it, but would have been the preferred option. If it had been, they could have just broken off the end of the shaft, and then pulled the rest of the arrow out through the other side; Jon's was imbedded.

"It didn't hit an artery," she told him. "So that's good."

"Anything else?" he said sarcastically. Jon watched her as she bit her lip. "Arya."

She sighed, and it was briefly visible past her lips. "It would have been better if it went all the way through, but it didn't. It's dangerous to try and remove it without me knowing what the arrowhead looks like, but it's probably worse if we just leave it in there."

"Okay..." he looked down at it with a craned neck for a long minute from where he lay on his right side. "So, we take it out." He said finally.

Arya looked at him. "Are you sure? Because... well, I'm not necessarily qualified for this kind of thing. I could just make it worse; I could nick something—you could bleed out and I wouldn't be able to stop it!"

He gave a dry huff of laughter. "I'm as sure as I can be." She still didn't look convinced and started to chew on her lip. "It has to be done, Arya. And I trust you more with this than myself. Get it out, and patch me up—I can't be out of commission; not with what's happening right now."

"Okay." She took a deep breath and stared at the wound before she gave her head a little shake. "Give me your headlamp." After some adjustment, he handed it to her and she secured in over her hood and settled it next to her own already trained on his leg. "If we're gonna go through with this, then I'm going to give you something stronger than those aspirin, okay?"

"But I thought you--"

"I changed my mind."

"Reassuring," he deadpanned.

She ignored him and got out the single shot field morphine; it wasn't enough to knock him out completely, but it would be damn close. "This is going to hurt like a bitch, Jon. Trust me, you're gonna want it." She tore the hole in the pant leg around the wound wider so that she could see it properly and he shivered at the invasion of cold before he yelped as she jabbed him with the needle. But then he moaned in somewhat of a relief as the throbbing, burning, stabbing pain seemed to let up more than a notch as the morphine worked its magic almost instantly and he laid back in the snow.

She gave him no more than a glance before she turned to her work; she needed to get this done before that morphine wore off.

She snapped on some latex gloves that were in the kit, over her fleece ones; this had to be as sterile as she could make it so that Jon could avoid getting infection. She dabbed at the wound with antiseptic whips and his leg twitched. "You gotta keep a still as possible, Jon."

"I will, don't worry." He told her tersely. "Just do it already."

There was a short disposable plastic-handled scalpel in the kit and she took that out. "Alright, here we go." She placed her right hand on Jon's thigh to help keep it steady (because even with the morphine shot, he was going to sure as hell feel this anyways), and carefully lined up the blade with the end of the tear in his flesh and pressed, cutting it a centimetre, widening it. Jon gave a grunt, his leg tense, but he didn't move and she did the same thing on the other side. She wiped away the fresh blood, clearing her view, even as more bubbled up. This was the part the was really going to hurt like hell. "This is gonna hurt—badly." She warmed.

"I'm ready!" he told her.

She pushed on either side of the wound, stretching it open and he groaned. She needed to clear the arrowhead's path so that it didn't tear the inside of his leg (his muscles etc.) to shreds. She grabbed hold the shaft, and carefully started to pull it out from the pool of blood that filled the open wound and he cried out, but true to his word, he held still. It had been buried almost four inches into his muscled thigh. "It's out!" she pulled it free and instantly pressed pads to the wound, trying to staunch the new blood flow a bit as Jon shook underneath her. "I'm gonna have to stitch it up."

Jon nodded. "Try not to leave me hideously scarred," he gasped.

"We wouldn't want that," she agreed. She pressed the lips of his wound together, and gave him four stitches for good measure in the 2 1/2 inch wound. She cleaned it with a wipe, and put some extra pads on it before wrapping about half his thigh in gauze to secure the wound and compensate for the rip she had to tear bigger in his snow pants, his uniform and thermal wear. "Finished." She snapped off the latex gloves. He gave a chocked grunt as she helped him sit up, and propped him knee on a small mound of snow. "You okay?"

He nodded, his breath wobbling in the air in front of his face, his cheeks pale under his dark beard that had nothing to do with the cold. "I think I'll live."

She gave him a MRE and the canteen, made sure that Ygritte was still out, and took her Remington to go check the perimeter. It wasn't like she could see far in this blizzard, but it looked like things were clear at the moment. While this place was good shelter from the storm, and a hiding place from the enemy, it also meant they were like fish in a barrel.

After a bit, she went back to find Ygritte moaning lowly under the wind, and Jon in the same spot, his pain-lined expression hidden behind his scarf, his brown eyes trained across on their prisoner. Arya's own cheeks were stiff and frozen from the cold, so much for holding onto her latest scarf; she was just going to have to do without and hope that she didn't lose her nose to frostbite like that one half-breed that she had killed.

"How you doing?" she murmured from in front of him, looking down at his injured leg. There was some spotting through the bandage, but that was normal and to be expected—unless he was bleeding internally, that is. That would be something to really worry about, and something that she couldn't solve out here in the Neutral Zone, beyond the Beyond, and it wouldn't be something that she would discover until it was too late and Jon bleed-out, or more, bleed-in. _Stop creating problems that don't exist yet, idiot_ , she mentally beratted herself.

"Okay," he told her. "I'm starting to get used to the pain."

She nodded and looked over at the Wildling princess as she put her bound hand to her head, awakening, but still half emerged. The time was narrowing.

"What are we going to do with her?" Jon asked, his mind on the same subject. "If she really was part of this attack--"

"The plan is still the same," she told him firmly. "But no more mister-nice-guy, we're gonna get some answers right now whether she wants to give them to us or not." Jon didn't protest as she started across the small space towards the other woman who started to push herself up.

Arya quickly corrected that with a boot to the shoulder, and a grunt from the reciever, back on the ground again. She kept the boot in place, remembering her thought that Ygritte was nothing but dirt on the bottom of her boots, and the corner of her lips curved imperceptibly upward at the thought.

Ygritte stared up at her through amber tinted goggles with a blue gaze that wasn't that dissimilar from the Wildling-White-Walker half-breed, all but the glowing part that was. Arya reached down and pulled the scarf down to her pointed chin and purposefully made sure the beam from her headlamp pointed in her eyes.

"Did you lead us into that ambush?" Arya questioned.

Ygritte just gave her a slow blink through the goggles.

The brunette quietly grit her teeth. "I asked you a question, now answer it! Did you intentionally lead us into that ambush?"

Ygritte just looked at her with a bored expression that just ticked the younger woman off. Arya took her boot from her shoulder and dropped none-to-gently down on Ygrittes chest (much as Tanner had done to her what seemed like forever ago when she was training), and watched a condensed cloud of breath leave her lips forcefully. Let's see how bored she looked when the Night Wolf was finished with her. She pulled the dagger from her thigh and twirled it expertly in the palm of her gloved hand and pressed the point against the woman's pale cheek.

"Do you think I'm playing with you, is that it? You can call me a troll all you want, but you're my prisoner, now." She scoffed and pressed the sharp tip of her dagger into the flesh underneath, breaking the skin just enough to make a ruby bead of blood well up. "Qhorin said that you were a princess to the Wildlings, but al I se beneath me is nothing but a... Wildling Whore." She said it deliberately slow, annunciating each syllable, her lips twisted. For whatever reason, this insult always set the Wildling off, and though she didn’t react in a grand way, her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed, and that was exactly what Arya was looking for. "Now, if you don't want me to carve it into your pretty-whore face, then answer the fucking question: Did you lead us in that ambush?"

Arya waited a long minute, never taking her eyes from the blue ones underneath her.

"No." She finally answered. Arya narrowed her eyes and pressed harder on her dagger, more blood welled and her assaulted cheek twitched in response. "Press that all ya like, carve it int' m' flesh. My answer's still th' same... No, y'ugly wench, I didn't lead us into a ambush."

"Then where were you leading us?"

"To where ya wanted t'go." Arya waited. "Where Halfhand tol' me to take ya—the-King-in-the-North, Mance Rayder."

"And who attacked us?"

"Proly a huntin' party that we jus' happened across."

"Uh-huh." Arya replied, sitting back on the woman's chest and taking the knife from her, but not getting up. She wasn't sure if Ygritte was telling the truth or not, but if she was on the Wall's side, she supposed it made sense and they didn't know that they had their precious princess and that was why they fired. "I'll accept that... for now." And finally, she pushed herself roughly from the woman; something that she also experienced from her mentor.

She gave the prisoner a MRE from her pack and took one for herself; she broke a little fast for the Night Wolf's taste. "So, what do you think?" Arya asked Jon after she sat down next to him.

His eyes never left Ygritte. "We'll just see where things are after we find Qhorin and Tanner."

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Okay, so for this chapter I have been having some major writer's block [wish I could tell you that I suddenly got a life, but that would be a lie], which hasn't seemed to be happening much since I started The Wall Military Academy trilogy, but seemed to plague me for this chapter. Like I said before, I just made it all the more complicated form myself, lol, but it'll be worth it in the eventual end, right?**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> 'Neutral Zone' = The space where the Wildling Clans made their home, the space after the Wall's Beyond and before the boarder of the Land of Always Winter.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Arya, Jon, Tanner and Qhorin head out beyond the Fence into the Neutral Zone with the Wildling princess as their prisoner and potential bargaining chip to end this war between the Wildlings and the Wall before it can truly begin, but are ambushed.  
>  ~ Qhorin and Tanner get separated from the trio during the attack and are currently MIA [missing in action] (not presumed dead).  
> ~ Arya questioned Ygritte about her allegiance, but does not get a straight answer and the Wildling claims that she wasn't part of it, but Night Wolf is still suspicious._


	15. Chapter 14

The Wall Academy:  
Elite Military Training Depot  
(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)

 _Chapter 14:_ —

Arya periodically checked the entry to their little hideaway, but didn't dare venture further than that. The natural ice-walls provided great cover from the blizzard (almost like a cave in its design), and though that allowed them to light a fire, they didn't. She held down the fort by herself; with Jon's injury to his leg, it wasn't a good idea for him to move around on his own right now and though she was tired, she didn't complain. She found she would rather be where she was than where he was, or where Ygritte was.

She often wondered if the Wildlings and Half-breeds and maybe White Walkers and Wights were making their way through the Fence and then onto the Wall right at this moment. It didn't count for anything, but she would much rather be in the thick of it than here, right now. And just as much as she thought about the attacks (or potential thereof), she contemplated where Tanner and Qhorin were. Them being dead was just a laughable thought. Arya didn't know Qhorin personally, but she had been with Tanner for three-years now, and if anyone could survive an attack and a blizzard alone, it would be the Skull King; so she wasn't too worried on that front, but them getting back together was a whole other issue.

With Jon injured, they couldn't go out looking, especially not in this blizzard. Neither of them had been on this side of the Fence before. They didn't know the terrain, and the only one, out of the three of them that did, couldn't be trusted to guide them where they needed to go—as if they knew where that was in the first place.

Were they still to go ahead with the mission? Just the two of them—one injured? How long where they to wait for the two ranking officers before it was too late? All Arya knew though, was that they had until the end of the blizzard to decide.

—

Arya looked at her watch, the face glowing a faint blue, and marked the time. 0237. It was officially the third day that the blizzard had been waging in the northern-north, and Arya was past stir-crazy two days ago.

She stared out into the blowing and raging snow so long that her eyes ached. She didn't know how much more she could take before she just started screaming until her voice gave out, just to let some of her frustrations out. She wanted to shoot something, hit something—and every time she thought about it, she saw red-hair, pale skin and a pointed-chin, in her mind's-eye as the recipient.

She had the feeling someone was coming up behind her, and when she turned around she saw Jon hobbling towards her, pressure mostly on his right-leg and using the snow-wall like a crutch to help him along.

"Jon! What are you doing up? You should be staying off that leg." Her tone was rebuking, but her grey eyes where filled with worry as she reached out to help him.

"I'm fine." He told her, his hand on her shoulder slightly for support. He had always been a patient man, but this injury was pushing his limits. Being stuck here with the ability to move was completely different from one of being grounded (literally). Arya seemed about at the edge, and he was right beside her. He knew that as soon as the blizzard broke, they had to move on; but the question was where?

She finally relented after giving him a long look and then glanced behind her. "Where's--"

"She fine." He stopped her before she could even get started on the matter. "She's got nowhere to go—beside, I asked her not to get into trouble."

"You _asked_ her?" she was incredilous (surprised her face even had the ability to move from it frozen state), she started to turn but Jon stopped her with a firm grip on her shoulder that had nothing to do with his balancing act on his right leg. She turned back to look at him.

"I am _kidding,_ " he said. "Kidding. I really am not that stupid, you know."

"I didn't--"

"You did; and I understand." He sighed and looked at her closely. "But, Arya, you also have to understand that I was partners with her for three-years. I trusted her with my life, to have my back—do you know what it's like to know somebody like that, only to find out that everything you knew about them, trusted about them, was a cover, a lie?" she didn't know, and hoped that she never had to. "It's hard and it hurts, and you want it to not be true, but it's all staring you right in the face. But even then..." he gave his head a short shake, like he was trying to get rid of the thoughts but couldn't quite seem to. "And then when Qhorin said that Ygritte was going to help us, I felt so relieved! That the things I believe weren't wrong. I didn't put my trust in someone that didn't deserve it. But now—now everything's just so fucked up! With that attack... Did she intentionally lead us into an ambush? Or was it just a coincidence? I know that she said that she didn't do it, but how are we really supposed to believe her after everything?"

She couldn't stop the relief that she felt. Jon was finally, _finally_ starting to see what she saw—Anything Ygritte did or said, couldn't be trusted. "We'll consider what she said, but there's no stock behind it. She's our prisoner, and that's what she should be treated as."

"You're right," he agreed. "Now we just have to wait for this blizzard to pass and meet back up with Qhorin and Tanner and finish this mission."

"And if we don't find and meet back up with them?" Arya questioned. "What then?"

"We have to keep going, obviously!" he scoffed at her implication.

"How?" she challenged him. "You're injured, Jon—if you didn't notice—you're in no condition to be going on a mission that needs you to be in fighting condition."

"By the time this blizzard is over and it's time for us to head-out, I will." He replied curtly.

She groaned and bit her lip to stop herself from retorting with the first thing that came in reply to that comment. With an injury like that in his leg, and the conditions that they would have to travel... it just wouldn't do. He would easily reopen the wound, and the pain alone would hinder their pace. If they got into another fight like back at the watchtower, with an injury like that—it would be his death—it would be all their deaths—except Ygritte that was, she was the Wildlings' princess after all.

She was wondering how she was going to say it (you know, less heart-crushing and more civil and all), but he could already see it in her expression, in the way she bit her lip. He gave a heavy sigh. "You're right." She looked at him with raised brows. "Sure, in a couple more days I'll be healed enough that I could manage on my own without assistance, but making the journey to the Wildling Camp is out of the question—You're better off just going without me to hold you back."

She actually let out a short bark of laughter at that. "Are you kidding me? You honestly think that I could manage this on my own? I'm good, Jon, we both know that, but something like this?—there's no way I can do it alone. It would be insane to do it with the two of us even if you weren't injured, but seriously, as much as it hurts me to admit it, this is not a solo mission."

"So, then what are we supposed to do?" he asked her, tired. "Do we search for Qhorin and Tanner, or, do we head back for the Fence."

Arya sighed heavily and turned back to gaze out into the blizzard. She was filled with conflicted feelings, but even as she had said it just moments ago, she knew that they had to at least attempt to continue their mission whether they found their ROs or not, with Jon’s injury or not.

She remembered back, two-years earlier, when she had finally returned back to the Wall after she recovered from her injuries and Bran was finally on the mend, and Benjen informed her that she would not be getting a new partner to replace Gendry after he transferred to work in the armoury in her absence.

_"Anything can kill you at the Wall, this is what you signed up for when you accepted that recruitment. What do you think you will go through when all of your training is finish and you are put on assignment? Didn't you join the Wall to be in service? The Seven Kingdoms might not be as peaceful as they are right now, Arya. What if a war were to break out now and you were sent out into the field? What would happen? Would your courage take leave of you? Would bullet fever overcome you?"_

_"Of course not!"_ She had told him firmly _. "I am not afraid."_

" _Then you have nothing to worry about with Tanner."_

_"You tricked me!"_

_"Whatever the Skull King puts you through now, will prepare you for the future—if such a war were to come."_

And that time had come now. In this moment, it was upon them. If they had a chance to stop this war from happening, they had to take it, no matter the personal cost.

She gave a brief, long and suffering groan as she tilted her head back and looked into the clogged sky. "We have to go forward with the mission, whether we find Tanner and Qhorin or not."

He grimaced. "Didn't you just say—?"

"Yeah." She looked at him. "But you know just as much as I do that we have to do this. We wouldn't be able to live with ourselves if we had the chance to stop this war against the Wall and didn't take it."

"You're right," he admitted, pain tightening the muscles in his face. "I don't know how we would manage it, but we have to."

"Come on," she murmured. "Let's get you off your feet; we need you in the best shape possible—considering—so we can have any hope in hell that there is to pull this off."

"Yeah."

He put an arm over her narrow shoulders and she wrapped hers around his lower back in support. Just standing around like this reawakened what little pain that had slipped away, and it was rather tiring. So he put weight on her, because he knew that she could take it.

—

"We're getting low on rations." Jon told her the next day, even though it was difficult to tell just that with the sun held captive, his face naked but for his dark beard.

Arya checked her pack first, her goggles around her lonely neck, and then Jon's; just to make sure. They had rations in both, but now they had only enough for a couple more days. She stared over at Ygritte who was sitting, leaning against the opposite wall, looking as if she didn't have a care in the world as she looked back rather idly. If it was just the two of them, her and Jon, the rations would have lasted twice as long.

"We need her alive," he reminded her quietly, seeing her grudging look at Ygritte. "You know, if we actually want a chance at pulling this off."

"I know," she growled, but there wasn't much behind it. She sighed. "Maybe once the blizzard's finished being an asshole, hunting in the Neutral Zone might be easier—seeing as it's not a fenced-in military training zone."

"I hope you're right, otherwise we'll be dead before we can get anything worthwhile done."

"How long do you suppose this blizzard is going to attempted-murder us?" she asked, sitting down beside him. It was much the same spot that she had put him when she was done with his injured leg, the packed snow dented and semi-frozen with the impression of his ass.

"It's already been four days," he reasoned, "It can't last that much longer—a couple days, at most."

"Well, here's to hoping you're right or we're going to have to cut our rations in half."

"We've been going on a ration a day already!" he protested. It was hardly filling his stomach as it was, and he knew the same was for her as well.

"I know. So pray to the Old Gods, the New if you have to—because we haven't even started yet and already we're failing." She deadpanned. She climbed back to her feet.

"Where are you going?"

"To have a talk," she looked pointedly in Ygritte's direction.

"Arya—" he sighed.

"Don't worry, that's all I'm going to do... for now." She didn't look back at him as she walked the short distance to the other side of their shelter, bypassing the snow-glider. She stopped several feet in front of the Wildling woman, who didn't even acknowledge her. Arya refused to let that annoy her, and instead said: "What are you up to?"

Ygritte finally looked at her, her scarf pulled down around her neck, and though she had to tilt her head up slightly to do it, it didn't seem to have that affect. She raised a single, auburn, arched brow, it grazing the underside of her goggles perched on her forehead. "Oh, the same as you all; waitin' for th'blizzard to pass on by—should be any day now."

"And how would you know that?"

"Have ya forgotten? I was born out here, kneeler."

"Uh-huh." She crossed her arms over her chest. "So, what are you up to?" she repeated.

The corner of her lips lifted. "I just told ya... waitin' on th--"

"Like I would believe you for a second!" Arya scoffed, her eyes narrowed. "I know you're planning something, but, fine, you don't have to tell me—I'll figure it out before too long, and then stop you."

Ygritte gave a dry chuckle in response. "You always give me what I need, troll—a laugh!"

Arya grit her teeth before she forced herself to cut it out. "Laugh all you want, because I'll be getting the last one."

"Believe that all ye want, girl." She gave her head a little condescending shake. "You think ye got one ov'r on me because yer with sweet Jon again, but he'll never truly be yers, will he? I had 'im first, didn't I?"

Her body reacted on its own accord, and she just stopped it at the last moment, her gloved knuckles just mm from the older woman's pale-rosy coldend cheek.

"Arya!"

The teen ignored his exclamation from across the way. Her blue eyes seemed magnifying this close, their breaths filling the same air-space. Arya hadn't seen any huge visual reaction to the threat, but couldn't miss the tightening around her eyes and lips.

"I'm going to kill you, bitch, _believe_ that!" Arya hissed in close before jerking her fist away sharply.

This time hardy laughter met her retreating back as she went back over to Jon, she didn't look back or snarl a comment in return, just seethed quietly, sure to keep her expression blank.

"Arya—?" Jon started, but Arya just grabbed her Remington form where she left it leaning against the wall next to Jon, and went to check the entrance of their little hideaway again.

She hadn't been joking the first time she said that about a month ago, and she still wasn't. Of course, that plan had been respectively put on the back burner for now, seeing as she and Jon needed to try and stop a war—with Ygritte as their only bargaining chip—but after that, duty would be set aside, and revenge would take its place.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:  
> ~ Cut conversation between Arya and Benjen taken from "NORTH WINTER HIGH SCHOOL: THE WALL (MILITARY) ACADEMY: Interlude,” chapter 10!:**
> 
> _"Anything can kill you at the Wall, this is what you signed up for when you accepted that recruitment. What do you think you will go through when all of your training is finish and you are put on assignment? Didn't you join the Wall to be in service? The Seven Kingdoms might not be as peaceful as they are right now, Arya. What if a war were to break out now and you were sent out into the field? What would happen? Would your courage take leave of you? Would bullet fever overcome you?"  
>  "Of course not!" She had told him firmly. "I am not afraid."  
>  "Then you have nothing to worry about with Tanner."  
>  "You tricked me!"   
>  "Whatever the Skull King puts you through now, will prepare you for the future—if such a war were to come." _
> 
> _~ Arya and Jon have come to the decision that no matter their situation, when the blizzard finally ends, they are going to continue on with their mission: Find Mance Rayder and use Ygritte as a bargaining chip to end the Wildlings attack on the Wall before it can begin (if it hasn’t started already, that is).  
>  ~ Tanner and Qhorin are still missing in action (MIA), what could of happened to them? Are they still alive and just separated from the two young Crows? Did the Wildling hunting party capture, or even kill them?_
> 
> Thanks for Reading!


	16. Chapter 15

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 15:_ —

Arya was startled awake from her sleep by a shove, and she woke up swinging. She heard the muffled grunt that was distinctly male—Jon—and sat up in the snow and dark alert.

"What is it? What happened?" she demanded, her gaze cutting through the beam of his headlamp, reaching for her Remington laying next to her.

"The blizzard's lightened up."

" _That's_ why you woke me?" she groaned tiredly. "Where's Ygritte?"

Jon just looked over his shoulder, his headlamp forced to follow him, and it gentle cut across the space to show where the Wildling appeared to be sleeping curled on her side, her back to them. He turned back to the teen after a moment. "She's fine," he said darkly.

"So? What's the problem?" she rubbed the lingering sleep from her grey eyes with gloved hands.

"Well, it lightened up and I wanted to let you get your bit of sleep, so I went out—"

"You what?!" she demanded, shooting a glance at Ygritte, who hadn't move. "You went _out_?" she hissed more quietly. He nodded with a solemn expression. "What were you thinking, with your leg! What if something happened. Jon—!"

"Arya," he whispered, and his tone stopped her rant in mid-track.

"What? Did something happen?"

His nodded silently with compressed lips, shifting from where he sat next to her with his left leg stretched out in front of him and his right tucked under his ass.

"Well?" she growled, anxiety make her heart beat faster.

"I didn't get far, because," he said finally, "I almost walked right into a campsite."

"What campsite? Who's?" she asked sitting up straighter. Could it be Tanner and Qhorin? Where they this close all this time?"

"It wasn't them." He told her, reading her thoughts easily.

"Are you--"

"I'm sure." His tone brokered no room for faint hope.

She released a slow breath, and in it, what hope she had held onto for the last four days they had been separated. The chances weren't high that they would all be reunited and they could have a chance with this mission. "What else happened?" she clicked on her own headlamp so she could see him better. A short shudder went through him, having nothing to do with the pain in his leg, and she saw for the first time just how pale and such he looked. "Jon?" she gently touched his shoulder and could feel just how tense he was through his thick parka marred with blood, much like her own.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it through puffed cheeks before giving his head a little shake and looking her in the eyes across the give-or-take twelve-inches that separated them, it filling the space in condensed form very briefly before vanishing like so many things in this Neutral Zone.

"It was a temporary camp," he said. "Maybe even from the same hunting party that attacks us earlier. I found a makeshift tent made from animal skins blown over and half buried... and a body."

"A Wildling body?"

"Yeah. I nearly tripped over it, but I checked, and it was a Wildling— _not_ a half-breed. But the thing was, he was killed from gunshot wounds!"

Arya perked up at that. The Wildlings didn't have guns, as far as the Wall was aware, and if they did, this hunting party didn't have them. So that could only mean one thing. "Tanner and Qhorin, they killed that Wildling."

"Must be." He nodded.

"Then they have to be close," she reasoned; the hope that she had lost seemed to have revived itself with this news. She took a breath to calm down her excitement and cleared her throat. "How long do you think he'd been dead for?"

"It's hard to tell, with this cold, and the blizzard." He thought about it. "But from where the wounds were located, I think he was killed at the camp." Though she had her expression pretty much under control in the light of his headlamp, the hope and relief was clear in her wide grey eyes. "Arya--"

"This is good, Jon, don't you see?" she spoke over him eagerly. "One or both of them are alive. They--"

"They could have been killed after the attack on that camp," it was his turn to interrupt her. "For all we know, they happened on it by accident, were able to kill that one Wildling, before they were perused by the others—however many there were—until we actually see them for ourselves, we have to assume that they're dead."

He watched that killed hope take the light from her eyes before she turned her gaze from him and stared back across at the unmoving Ygritte, her brows creased in the center.

"You're right. It's better to act like they're dead." Her tone sounded almost dead in tone.

He exhaled a heavy breath, the throb and fire in his thigh a constant for the time being. His little jaunt outside their sanctuary did more harm than good; him physically, and her psychologically. After everything they had been through, Arya had been the one that held them together—when he was a ghost of himself after Ygritte and the half-breeds, but it was this that made her falter.

He knew that it was good that he had found that camp and the dead Wildling, it was information that they needed—he just wished that it hadn't dealt them with the blow that their respective mentors were probably dead. Yes, they knew that it was possible before, but this just seemed to make it all the more real. He took a breath.

"Wait." she held her hand up and out between them like a stop-sign and he froze the words that he had meant to say on the tip of his tongue. "You left without informing me, leaving me asleep and defenceless... with Ygritte right there— _unguarded_?!"

"She wasn't going to do anythin--'

"How many times do I have to remind you, Jon, that she's not our friend or ally, she's our prisoner and princess to the enemy!" she exclaimed, what ever energy that seemed to have left her, returned with edge.

Though he was glad that she had bounced back that quick, the tone was rather unnecessary. "She wasn't going to do anything," he repeated, his voice taking on a slightly harder tone so she didn't interrupt him, "because I knocked her out."

"You—You what?" she stammered in shock.

"Like you said before, no more Mr. Nice Guy, this isn't some game we're playing, this is real—this _war_ , Arya. We're not kids anymore, after everything we went through at the watchtower showed me that."

"Good," she murmured, nodding slowly, never taking her eyes off of him, "Good. But next time you fucking wake me up before you go wander off!" she snapped, hard, jabbing him in the chest with the tips of her gloved fingers, hard, so that he could actually feel it. "Got it?"

"Yeah," he grimaced, rubbing at the assaulted spot when she finally took her hand back. "I got it."

She sighed a leaned back against the snow-wall heavily, some falling away and dusting her shoulders. The corner of her lips were pulled upward slightly as she gave him a sideways glance. "I kind of missed this, you know?" she whispered softly, so much so that Jon would have missed it hadn't he been paying attention.

His lips mirrored her. "Me, too, little sister." he admitted, just as quiet.

It had been such a long time since he called her that, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop the relieve bubble of laughter before it escaped her throat.

Ygritte gave a low groan as she started to regain consciousness again, rolling over to face them and slowly pushing herself upward. She pushed her hood down, revealing her red hair in stark contrast to the white-everything, rubbing her head. "What th'fuck?" she demanded.

Arya flashed her a shark-smile. "Have a nice nap?"

"That wasn't a nap!" she growled, dropping her hands down from her head. "Yeh knocked me out." she glared daggers at the other woman.

"Don't look at me," she put an innocent look on her face.

"Jon?"

Jon slowly turned his head and looked at her and there was nothing open or friendly about it. "What?"

Her lips went tight, she looked at him for a long moment. Arya watched in the faint beam of the light, at this moment when the Wildling bitch finally realized that she had lost Jon.

Ygritte had lost and Arya had won—the Stark finally had Jon back after three long years.

—

It was the next day that the blizzard finally pissed off and the sun's rays broke through the heavy clouds for the first time in a week. This was their cue to finally leave this place and continue on with the mission.

Arya changed Jon's bandage, it frozen with blood, sticking to the wound. He grimaced, but that was it, and downed a few aspirins. They ate their last remaining MREs, packed up and headed out; Arya attached once more with Ygritte.

They were in the same order on the snow-glider before. Arya steering, Ygritte guiding, and Jon watching their six. They were headed for the same direction that they came, but for a few degrees off. Of course, there was the chance that Ygritte might try something with her restrains again, now that she realized she had no friends with the pair of them, so Arya had shortened her restraints—but that couldn't really stop her from trying again; she had a better chance of it now that Jon was injured.

The blizzard had altered the landscape dramatically, but neither Arya or Jon could tell the difference with their lack of knowledge in the Neutral Zone, their enemies territory. It was a supported presumption that just like the trio, the Wildlings had been stalled out in their advance towards the Fence and Wall respectively, by the blizzard—but now that it was over, both sides would be on the move again.

They'd have three or four days at the most to find Mance Rayder and negotiate a cease-fire—and from the very start, this mission depended greatly on Ygritte actually guiding the to the Wildling camp and not astray.

Arya hated to rely so much on the woman, but without Tanner and Qhorin, they didn't have much a choice—it was either this, or abandon the mission completely.

—

They had made camp within a snowdrift, literally. The bank of snow was piled so high and thick, that with the small, flat-head, retractable, field-sized shovels that they were lucky enough to have, it was simple to carve a makeshift cave that fit the three of them.

It wasn't big enough to fit the snow-glider in with them, or their snowshoes, but that didn't matter, because it was just so damn warm, with all three of their bodies pressed against each other with Ygritte between her and Jon.

Though she would much rather be as far away from the woman as she could (a good six-feet-under being the best distance in the world), she had no other choice. Jon and Ygritte has their backs to the opening, protecting themselves from the wind and powered snow that the gusts picked up and threw every-which-way, while Arya faced the opening so that she could keep watch.

She wondered how far away from the camp they were, if they would run into another hunting party or war unit on the way, or happen upon it themselves. Now that the blizzards was over, the Wildlings would be on the move for sure, and that simple thought made the teen Crow nervous.

She tried to think about what they might say, or what their plan would be when they finally got to the camp, but she couldn't picture any of it. She had no idea the size of the compound, how many Wildlings would be there—would Mance Rayder even be there, or was he the kind of man who actually lead his soldiers into battle on the field? She didn't know much about it, but if in command a bunch of lawless savages, she was sure that she would be. Just to live out here, he was going to have to be a touch sonavabitch!

These thoughts didn't help her any. They wouldn't know a thing until they were actually inside the main camp.

—

Arya blinked her eyes closed for a moment, they ached and burned from staring into the white and the dark, even with her amber goggles.

She was born in Winterfell, in the northern part of Westeros. All of that area was either winter, or a whisper away from it in the summer, the cold never quite goes away, they got summer snows after all. Of course, it doesn't last long, but it was there. She could handle the cold, but she was starting to grow a deep distaste for it.

She was jostled by Ygritte and narrowed her eyes over at the woman right next to her in the dark grey. She couldn't see much, but the Wildling was moving around to much in the small space for her liking. She elbowed Ygritte in a sharp manner and the other ceased movement almost immediately. Arya didn't like it, and was starting to wonder why Jon hadn't done the same on the other side of her when she was sure she saw something out of the corner of her eye, out in this wasteland of a place.

She straightened up and shifted her Remington in her gloved hands, squinting through the gloom and blowing snow to see two figures slowly getting closer and closer. Her heart skipped a beat, could it be? Was it possible that this was Qhorin and Tanner? No. It was too impossible, but that lingering optimism still lived inside of her.

Keeping her eye trained on the figures—getting closer by the minute, almost fourty-feet out now—she reached across Ygritte's back to the sleeping Jon. He would have been more tired, with his injury. She grabbed the back of his shoulder and gave him a shake, but he didn't seem to respond as his body slumped forward out of her grasp. Twenty-feet now. She leaned sideways and let her attention stray from the approaching figures for a second, getting another grip on the back of Jon's parka. She jerked and Jon came without resistance, falling back onto the snow; he wasn't sleeping, instead—unconscious. Fifteen-feet.

"Wha—" she turned her head just in time to receive Ygritte's elbow in the face, rather unprepared. That surprised her, and it certainly dazed her. She barely felt the warm and sluggish blood on her cold and numb face. She brought up her forearm to block another strike and felt it hit, but she wasn't fast enough with her other arm, her hand still holding onto the Remington and Ygritte hit her in the side of the head with her fist, jerked her raised arm away and got her twice more.

Blackness crept into her vision when Ygritte gave her a shove that sent her sprawling outside of their hideaway shelter in the snowdrift and onto her side just as two sets of boots touched down just a foot from her nose.

She could feel blood in the back of her throat as she tried to fight a useless battle against unconsciousness, as dread burned inside of her like a bad meal—Those weren't the tradition field boots for a officer of the Wall, instead, they were the animal-skin footwear of the Wildlings.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“Are we ever going to find out if Qhorin and Tanner are still alive?” Trust me, I'm asking the very same question. Stay tuned and hopefully we'll all find out. :)**
> 
> **P.S.: This isn't some ploy to get you to keep reading and review your thoughts on the matter, unless it's working, then it is, if not, then it isn't. Review anyway? :[)!?**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Jon seems to have gotten over any good-hearted lingering feelings he seemed to have for Ygritte.  
>  ~ The blizzard has past and the pair (+prisoner) move out, continuing on with their ROs mission. While making camp in a snow drift, Arya sees two figures approaching their position and has the hope that they might be her and Jon's missing mentors, but before she can find out, Ygritte managed to get free of her restraints and knocks both her and Jon out._


	17. Chapter 16

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 16:_ —

The first time she started to regain consciousness, Arya came awake striking.

Cold wind wiped at her exposed face and the underside of her chin. She could feel the still, warm body of Jon next to her, and just by the feel of things, she knew that they were on the move. In 6 seconds of regaining consciousness, she saw the brief flash of blue eyes through amber goggles, and a red lock of hair before she was struck in the head and sent back to the black.

—

The second time she awoke, she remembered last time, and wasn't an idiot this time.

She forced herself into relaxation, which was rather hard when she was burning with anger, hate and embarrassment, but she managed. Arya could still feel Jon next to her, which was good, and by the feel of it on her side, because that was how she was positioned, she was sure that they were being transported on the snow-glider.

She cracked her eyes open just a hairsbreadth, keeping her expression lax like it would be in unconsciousness. With the movement of their momentum, her vision was always bouncing and it was rather hard to focus with her splitting head, her aching face and the copper taste in her mouth, and apart from the snow, she was able to see a pair of Wall issue boots trotting in front of her face and knew it to be Ygritte.

She started to clench her jaw but snapped herself out of it, slowly moving her gaze to her own feet and seeing no one else, and then moving it up, able to just make out a pair of Wildling boots walking up at the handlebar's of the snow-glider, guiding it. Though she could see Ygritte and one other, she knew that there was at least three of them.

They went over a bump and she must have done something to give herself away, because the next thing she knew, Ygritte's next step wasn't into the snow—but her face instead.

—

The third time that Arya regained her senses from the black, things around her had changed dramatically.

She was in a stationary position on her stomach, with her wrists bounded tighter than they needed to be, attached to a metal post stuck deep in the snow. It seemed like she was in a tent, one that was empty but for her—Jon wasn't there. Through the wind pulling hard at the material of the tent, she could hear people—lots of them—moving around all over outside, talking—but not close enough for her to hear them and she was sure some weren't even speaking the common tongue.

She pushed her goggles to her throat so she could see better in the dimness.

She was deep in enemy territory, that was for sure.

She didn't brother to try and get her feet under her; even if she managed it, the way her head was pounding and throbbing, it would be even worse in a vertical position.

She grasped the stake in the ground with her gloved fingers and pushed and pulled at it, but it was in there good, probably buried under a good layer of packed snow and then frozen in ice beneath that. She groaned and caught her breath, rolling onto her side, moving so that the stake and her hands were at her chest.

She knew that Ygritte was dangerous from the start, in restraints or not. She'd let her ego get the better of her, let her guard down, and the Wildling princess had chosen her moment well. If Arya had any belief that Ygritte was on their side and not the Wildlings, then it shrivelled and vanished in an instant. Luckly, that wasn't the case, so it didn't affect her much, just made her all the more angry that the older woman had gotten the drop on her once more.

She had been so stupid, and had gotten her and Jon captured by the Wildlings. Ygritte was free and any plan that the pair of them had of halting this war before they had even begun it.

She remembered Tanner's words the first time that they made camp north of the Fence. _Just because you are out here, doesn't mean you are free._ That was true in more ways than one, but that wasn't going to stop her.

She was going to get out of here, find Jon and then saw where they went from there. She pictured all the blood that could be spilt by her hands and found the anticipation growing in her hollow gut. She was hungry, but that didn't much matter right now—she had to be alive to be hungry, and though there were two ways to stop her hunger, she preferred the one where she was still alive.

She exhaled and started to shift her body on the snow. She folded in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest, raising her hips off the ground and then her leg, bringing her left boot to her tightly-bound hands at the stake. She wasn't even going to try and brace her feet on the stake to see if she could kick it loose. And the way her wrists were tied, if she tried to saw the rope osf on the stake, she would just end up cutting her wrists instead.

Tanner beat many lessons into her (literally) while he was training her, and one of those was to always have a knife. He was like a magician with his knives, it seemed that he had them stashed everywhere on himself, and they appeared in his hands smooth like silk. He always told her there was the obvious places, and then the not so obvious places. So she had her daggers in obvious places stowed on her snow gear, and then she had her daggers next to her skin. She knew that she was searched while she was unconscious, but she had another level of dagger-stashing on her—like hiding it _in_ her gear.

One such hiding place was in the sole of her left boot, a hidden compartment that wasn't standard issue, one that she had crafter herself. No one knew about it, not even Jon, but Tanner being Tanner, he probably did.

The blade was only was only 3-inches long, and 2-centimeters wide, it was serrated and double-edged, and had no handle or hilt, it was the red-headed step-child of the pocket-knife.

Her fingers tried to get the compartment to unlock, but her fingers were bulky from the gloves and she couldn’t get it. She bit her lip to keep from screaming her frustration and forced herself to calm down.

She had just managed to crack the heel when she heard voices through the closed flap of the tent and silently cursed as she quickly straightened herself out, twinge-ing her knee in the process, but that was preferable to being caught on any day.

The flap whipped open and she blinked at the brief flash of dim sun before it was blocked out by a Wildling body that stepped through and the flap fell back shut. It took Arya a second to recognize the Wildling for what who they were—Ygritte, with a wardrobe change.

There was a war happening, and the stuck-up princess thought it appropriate to take the time to change clothes. Arya had been wearing the same stuff for two-weeks now, she stank and needed a shower bad—but you didn't see her taking the time to change and bathe.

Arya scoffed in derision at the woman, her head leaning on her slightly raised arm for support. Her sudden anger at seeing the princess mad her head thump all the more hard, but she ignored the feeling.

Ygritte stepped further into the tent and stopped a couple feet from where Arya was tethered, looking down her nose upon the teen, a twist to her lips, clad in Wildling furs, her flaming red hair loose about her shoulders. "Nice nap?" she mocked.

"Fuck you," she returned.

"Jon already did that," she whispered.

Arya went hot, red hot, with anger at the response. She knew that it wasn't true, but it got to her anyways, and the older woman knew it. Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. "That's a lie, and we both know it." After a few seconds, she manage to control herself, but Ygritte already looked triumphant.

Her blue eyes hardened and she kicked Arya in the stomach. The air was forced from the Crow's lungs unprepared in a wheeze, and she curled slight inward, gasping. But Arya was smirking anyways.

"Princess to the Wildlings?" Arya scoffed. "More like Princess to the Whores, tryin' to sleep with anyone with a prick between their legs!"

Ygritte let out a small cry of rage and bore down on her. There was more strength behind the kicks this time, and she curled up into a ball; her knees protecting her stomach and chest, her arms protecting her face. That was to say, the kicks still hurt; Ygritte had kept the snow boots from the snow-gear uniform after all.

Arya stayed her place for a long minute, even after the strikes stopped coming and Ygritte had stepped back, gasping for breath. Nothing was broken, but she was gonna be bruised to all hell before too long. She finally looked over her arm at the Wildling.

"Don' think for a minute tha’ yer life is worth anything’, troll." Ygritte spat.

Arya looked at her through narrowed eyes. "If that were true, then you would have killed me by now." She said confidently.

"For now." Ygritte sneered down at her. "Mance think's he can use ye against Stark, to get ‘im to hand th' Wall back to us—which it belongs to in th' first place. Yer his blood after all; and ye tried t' use me th' same way; only diff'rence is tha' Mance ain't that weak."

"If you think Benjen will surrender the Wall because you have his niece, then you're so much stupider than I first thought." Arya said.

"Maybe, but his son, too?" she smirked.

Arya bit her tongue; they still weren't sure if that fact was actually true or not—but even if Jon and Benjen weren't connected by blood, it didn't change the fact that they saw each other as surrogate father-and-son. But maybe it was better for the enemy to believe it—whatever advantage that brought the Wall.

"Is that all?" she laughed. "Then maybe it's best that I just lay here and watch the Wall put you and your mongrels into the ground where you belong and I'll be dancin' through your guts!" she strained against her bindings, pulling her upper body up; her head swam a bit, but she ignored it. "And I'll piss on your's, don't worry none about that."

Ygritte grabbed her dirty locks of tangled hair, knocking of her hood and cap; yanking hard enough to make the girl grimace. She leaned down close with a cruel expression. "He'll do _anything_ to keep ye from being harmed (too badly), an' ye'll do th' same for 'im." Ygritte stated, and Arya knew she wasn't talking about Benjen anymore. "I've been watchin' for three-years, ye ghastly little crow, I know everythin' I need to about th' two o' ye."

"Where's is he, you fucking bitch!" Arya seethed.

Ygritte shoved her head back roughly and stood back up. She grinned down at her, showing teeth that were surprisingly white and pretty straight (but un surprisingly, Arya wanted to knock them right out). "I'll be back soon, troll. Don' worry none," she mocked, "—I'll even say hello t' Jon for ye!"

Arya howled after her, not words, just anger, but the woman was already gone. She laid back, gasping to catch her breath again; her body aching, her head throbbing all the more. Her face felt hot through the numb of the cold, and she knew that she looked more like the troll that Ygritte called her than ever before.

—

Arya was soon to realize, lying in the tent, waiting for something bad to go down; that the previous mission didn't matter anymore. Ygritte was no longer the Crows' prisoner, their one and only card was exposed and their positions were reversed.

She didn't believe that the Wildlings would think twice about killing them the second they lost whatever little value her and Jon possessed at the moment. She didn't want to die, but she wasn't going to cry if it came down to that, which it looked to be closer than she liked. Of course, she had almost died/been killed a lot lately in the last two-weeks, so the spike of fear and adrenaline weren't that new to her and maybe that wasn't what scared her most. Dying. It was what happened after—and it wasn't even about her, either.

After what happened to Bran, falling off that climbing wall in the Athletic Proficiency Assessment (APA) course, and lost the use of his legs, Catelyn had the scare of her life. Arya wondered what would happen when she got the letter that said her youngest daughter was killed. She wondered what the expression on Ned's face would be when his younger brother Benjen told him that his daughter was gone, just like his own sister and brother when he was a teenager (and that was only if Benjen even survived this battle for the Wall). How would her brother's and sister react to her death? Would they cry and mourn her, band together like when Bran was in the hospital, or would their memory of her just slowly fade away over time?

Did any of that even matter? What would happen if the Wildlings did manage to take the Wall, would they even stop there, or would they raid father into the Seven Kingdoms? Were boys and men be drafted to defend their country from evasion, her brothers, her father? How far would the Wildlings really take it? If they got the Wall, would they be satisfied, or hungry for more land, more Westerosi blood?

It was too depressing and horrible to think about it for much longer. She couldn't let any of that happen, and it _could_ happen if she didn't do something!

She needed to get out of these bindings before Ygritte (or someone else) came again, and she had to find Jon (wherever he may be being held). The way Ygritte talked, it made it seem like she had recently spoken with Mance Rayder, so did that mean he was in this camp right now? If that where true, then it was her and Jon's duty to do something about it—and that something was kill Mance Rayder. That would cut the held of leadership off this serpent. Of course, Ygritte being the princess, she would take over control of this Wildling Army—so Arya would have to kill her as well.

But first thing, first...

She groaned a little as she moved her body into the same position as before, though a little slower this time with her newly battered body, but this was nothing compared to what could of happened so she was just thankful. The heel was still cracked open from her previous try and was just glad that Ygritte hadn't notice it otherwise this whole thing would have washed down the drain before it could have even begun.

She managed to get the heel open, and nearly dropped the blade several times. First, trying to actually get it out of the hollow in the open-heel; and the next several times when she was in the process of turning the blade around in her bound hands, unmovable on the post; and then when she tried to line the straight bade at the bindings on the opposite side of here her fingers were.

The blade was one sharp mother, and she was cutting through the fingers on her gloves more times than the blade fraying the rope. She was just glad that it was rope; she guessed the Wildlings didn't have a extra length of chain and shackles laying around. One tick of luck on her side. She bit her lip in concentration, her fingers feeling a little numb with the tightness of rope cutting off her circulation. She started to saw as best she could in the awkward angle.

She heard the crunch of snow outside the tent flap again and that was all the warning she got of another visitor. She gave a quiet hiss and thought fast about what to do with her blade. She couldn't drop it in the snow, she'd never get it back again; and it was too late to try and get it back into the hidden compartment in her boot heel.

She angled her wrists quickly and shoved the bade downward. The tip of the blade went (thankfully) into the small gap in her sleeve and she pressed her wrist into the post, shoving the blade down. Her heart pounding with the threat of being caught, she didn't even feel it as the blade cut into the flesh.

She pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, and hardened her expression as the flap was open and someone ducked inside. She pressed her arms together, hiding the small line of blood that was starting to soak through the white and dirty material on her sleeve.

She prayed that the slightly frayed rope, state of her gloves and fresh blood on her sleeve went unnoticed—she supposed she would really see if the Old Gods were watching over her or not.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Key:  
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Arya wakes up and finds herself held prisoner in the Wildling camp, alone in a tent, tied to a post—with Jon missing.  
>  ~ Ygritte and Mance plan to use Arya and Jon to negotiate Benjen’s surrender, just like the Crows had been planning to use the Wildling princess.  
> ~ In the midst of an escape attempt, Arya’s interrupted, but thankfully has enough time to cover it up._


	18. Chapter 17

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 17:_ —

This Wildling wasn't anyone Arya knew—but at the sight of him, knew she didn't want to be anywhere near him. He was older, with a long, grizzly, dark beard that covered most of his narrow, scarred face. He was probably pretty big normally, but made even bigger by all the different, patched pelts that he was wearing.

She was tense and still as he gave her a menacing look, steping right up to her. Her eyes flickered to the ugly club that swung at his hip under his cloak. She flinched a bit as he pulled out a wicked looking knife that was almost like a version of a saw, but more harsh looking.

"M've an' I cut off yer hand." He told her. What teeth he wasn't missing, were black with rot, his breath stank like rotting meat—he'd probably never heard of a toothbrush, let alone used one.

She nodded with tight lips and made sure to keep her wrist towards her, keeping the fresh blood out of his dark eyes' sight.

Arya couldn't stop that gasp when the man dragged her from the tent and into the daylight. She blinked several times as darker shapes took from in the white background of rolling hills that seemed to go on and on until they disappeared into the distance. As far as she could see in every direction as she was dragged through the maze, was campfires and tents, hundreds of them, of all different sizes, housing any number of Wildlings.

As she stumbled along beside the Wildling man as he dragged her to wherever, she tried to take in every detail that she could. She saw many Wildlings, children, the old, and the soldiers (hunters), going about their daily business, most didn't even look at her, but the children who were running around freely, playing and laying, whispered to each other and pointed at her as she passed.

If this was _just_ one camp, and filled with no one but the old and children and few warriors (she assumed the rest were already on their way to the Wall), she wondered what the other camps were like, how big, filled with men and woman who would fight in this war for control over the Wall.

She could smell cooking meat, carried on the cold wind, and she didn't care what it was, she just wanted its warmness to fill her stomach up. She wondered where he was taking her, would it be to see with Jon, or was it Mance Rayder, the self-proclaimed King-in-the-North.

She would feel better if it was the former; that way, when they were left alone for a moment, she could cut them free with the blade tucked in her sleeve, biting in her flesh, and the rest of her plan would follow behind her like a dark and quiet shadow, ever flexible. She silently prayed to the Old Gods that that was the case.

Her wildling guide seemed to be dragging her to what appeared to be the biggest tent in the camp, easily four times bigger than all the rest with grey smoke puffing out from an opening in the top, snatched away into the wind—this was probably Mance Rayder's tent.

As they drew closer, she saw the spike off-side to the entrance that made her blood run cold. Despite the fact that it was missing a rather important part, she recognized the head that was stabbed through its tip—Colonel Qhorin Halfhand. She swallowed the bile in the back of her throat at his slack jaw, hoarfrost that covered the frozen flesh of his face, and those still-open grey eyes that seemed to stare right through her still.

She wanted to look away, this was different then looking into the dead eyes of a Wildling-White-Walker half-breed that she had just killed. Though she hadn't known Qhorin that well, the first time she had spent any face-time with him, or even really seen him was six-days ago at Watchtower Flamingo. He had a tense and sure way about him, like nothing could faze him. But she made herself look, not to, would be a dishonour of him. He had been killed in action, as any soldier should when the time was right, it was an honour, dying in defence of the Wall, of his country.

She held her breath as they approached the opening flap of the tent, as if this state might change the direction of their goings, and almost gasped in relief when they _didn't_ enter that tent—instead she was shoved into the way smaller tent that was parked right next to it with a couple Wildlings standing with spears in hand on either side of the entrance flap.

The foul smelling man dragged her through the flap, shoved her to the snow, and secured her wrists to another post in the ground. And though her wrists were bound together tight, this time she was attached to the post by a short length of rope. He checked her bindings with a grunt, and left the tent without saying much else.

If they could kill Qhorin, a man who was a legend at the Wall, what hope did she and Jon carry?

She let out an explosive breath, forcing the dragging and useless thoughts from her head that would do her no good. She needed to focus on more important things on her mind—like finding Jon and hopefully taking some important lives with her, i.e. Mance Rayder and Ygritte, numero uno and deuce.

She knew holding her breath had nothing to do with it, but she was glad for it anyways—that had been too close. He didn't seem to have notice the bare blade tucked into her sleeve.

She looked around her new digs, and found out why the space seemed more cramped than her other holdings (which were the same size), was because right there, laying on what appeared to be a makeshift gurney, was the very man she was hopping to run into. It looked like he was passed-out or knocked-out.

Arya shuffled closer to the to the post in the ground and put it through her arms, using it to push the blade from inside her sleeve. She picked the blade from the snow. Pushing herself onto her knees, she pulled the short length of rope that tied her to the post taunt and turned the blade on it. She sawed through it quickly enough, and then turned the blade on the ropes at her wrists, the more trickier cut. She started to saw. It took her the longest few minutes in her life to cut through the tight loops, working through a cramp that took hold over the unfamiliar cutting position, until finally, they fell from her wrists.

"Yes!" she cheered under her breath so the guards outside wouldn't hear. Working the cramp from her right hand, she quickly crawled over to Jon and cut through his rope binds as well. She couldn't be gladder that these Wildlings were underestimating her skill and resourcefulness—she would have thought that Ygritte would make sure that the other knew to be liberal with the restraints and such. But all the better for them.

"Arya?" he groaned quietly.

She glance at his face and into the cracked brown eyes, pulling away the rope. "Yeah," she breathed, but that wasn't the only thing she noticed. There was a blossomed bruise on his whole left temple. "Are you okay? Your leg?" she glanced down at said leg, and noticed for the first time that the bandages weren’t the ones that she had put on him herself.

"A healer," he told her, his voice sounding raspy and dry. "She changed the bandage."

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. She supposed she should be glad; they changed it because they wanted them to live. What she didn't get was why they had them separated for a few hours and them put them back together, it didn't make much sense.

He lifted up his wrists and looked at them. "How'd you—"

She flashed him the blade. "An old trick Tanner taught me." She gave a small smile but then it fell from her face as she remember Qhorin's head on a spike, and wondered how she was going to break the news to Jon about his mentor.

He lifted his head slightly to look at her, frowning. "Are you okay? Your face," he said.

"Don't worry," she replied darkly, her mind taken off course for but a moment, "I'll returned the favour soon enough."

He just nodded, already knowing who exactly it was that was going to be getting this unpleasant favour of Arya's. He laid his head back but didn't take his gaze from her, his dark brows slightly furrowed. "But that's not what's bothering you, is it?" he murmured.

She shook her head, biting her lip. "No,"

"Just tell me," he told her. "Now's not the time to be holding back, Arya."

Biting her lip, she nodded. She looked back at the closed flap, remembering it hanging on the shaft, the frozen icicles of blood that hung from the end of Qhorin's neck, took a deep breath and looked her partner in the eye. "Qhorin's dead—I saw his head on a spike in display outside the main tent next to us."

She watched him intently. She could see the sadness in his soft brown eyes and a bit of anger, but saw no note up surprise—but what he said next made her so.

"I know," he said quietly after a moment.

"How?"

He waited a beat and she knew that she wasn't going to like his answer, already knew what it was. "Ygritte."

"Why would she to that? To torture you, I bet." Arya seethed. "Next I get my hands of her—!"

"Arya!" he hissed quietly at her, a warning on several different levels. She thought that he looked like he might've wanted to say more, but when he didn't she brushed the thought aside—if it was something important, he would've told her.

She stopped herself with a deep breath, shooting a glance at the entrance of the tent, only turning back to Jon when she didn't sense any movement or attempted entrance. She finally looked back to him, her expression hard. "When Ygritte told you about Qhorin, did she tell you anything else?"

"Just that the Wildlings were keeping us alive—for now—to see if they could use us to get Benjen to surrender the Wall."

"Benjen won't do that,"

"I told Ygritte that, too, but it didn't seem to bother her." He paused for a moment. "She did that to your face." it wasn't a question.

"She might have let a healer tend you," she said instead, "but don't let that trick you. Mance Rayder will have us killed the second we lose our usefulness."

"I know." He said. "There's also something I should tell you, something that I remembered." She looked at him curiously. "It was something that Benjen told me sometime ago, about Mance Rayder."

"What?" she asked eagerly.

Jon pushed himself up, and she helped him sit up. "Rayder's not Wildling-born."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a Crow at the Wall, just like us. He'd just become an officer, a sergeant, four-years ahead of Benjen, when he just left. He was on watch duty at the Fence when he just killed his partner and found his way onto the other side of the Fence. It was about two-years after that that this King-in-the-North stuff started."

Arya looked at him dumbfounded for a moment before she gave a deep sigh. "As interesting as that is, how is that supposed to help us any?"

"I'm not sure yet," he admitted after a moment. "But it's a little something more than you knew about the man an hour ago—and that's always a good thing."

"If Mance was a Crow, then he knows all about the Wall, its defences, its forces—anything and everything that would aid him in taking the Wall and usurp us." She suddenly realized with dread, this was even worse than she originally thought. She groaned hopelessly. "No matter how we look at it we're dead and the Wall is gone."

"Don't say that." He reprimanded her. "Sure, he'll have more knowledge on the Wall than we previously thought" —she scoffed and he ignored her— "but we still continue on with the mission."

Her expression turned suddenly grim—well, more grim than it already was. "His tent is right next door, they don't know we're free... all's we have to do is sneak across and kill the man." Of course, that had been her plan all along.

His expression matched her own. "Ygritte will just take his place and lead the charge." She gave him a pointed look at that and his lips formed a hard line. "How?"

"It'll be tricky, with your leg, I'm gonna have to do most everything, and there's only the one blade, too." She told him, talking as she thought the plan through. "There was two guards out front; we could make some noise, draw them inside, and take them by surprise. Mance's tent is right next to us; we could sneak around the back and take him out—they'll never see it coming." She pushed herself to her feet, and held out her hand to Jon.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed sombrely, taking her hand. He gave a small grunt for his injured leg and stood with most weight on his good leg. She helped him hop to the side of the tent flap and he gave her the go-ahead.

"Hey, hey! My friend, he needs help. Hey, help!" Arya shouted, smothering her voice a bit so they wouldn't notice that she was right there. She gripped the naked hilt of the small dagger in her left hand, and was at the ready position as the flap was jerked aside and a Wildling ducked in, and angry shout on his tongue.

It was quick and fast. He had just noticed her out the corner of his drooping eyes when her dagger buried itself under his chin, he choked and gurgled on his own blood. She grabbed the front of his furs and pulled him the rest of the way through the flap, throwing him onto the snow, face down. He jerked for a moment as the snow drank up his blood like it was thirsty.

Her hand dripping with blood, her heart pounding as adrenaline shot through her like caffeine. Her back to the flap, the other guard ducked through with a question on his lips that instant turned into a shout of alarm at seeing his comrade dead in the snow and his two prisoners free.

Arya spun around to him as he was swinging his club at her. It was a glancing blow, thankfully, but it put her down, the knife flying from her grip into the snow next to the body. She moaned, trying to get her head back on her shoulders as the man drew the club back for another blow when Jon jumped onto his back, wrapping his arms around the Wildling's face; both blocking his sight, and interrupting his airways.

He let out an roar, muffled by Jon's arm as he stumble around, trying to get the Crow from his back, swinging his club wildly. Jon let out a yelp of surprise as he tripped over the body of his friend, falling forward, and impaling himself on the very metal post that Arya had been bound to.

"Jon?" she muttered, crawling dizzily over to the pile of men.

"Agh." Jon pushed himself off the still struggling Wildling, painfully, gasping.

The wild man was gurgling and grunting. The post had impaled through his right lung, and he was still very alive, drowning in his own blood, it appeared. Jon looked at him with a clouded expressional. He grabbed the knife from the snow near him, and stabbed the dying man with force in the chest, finishing him off.

"Are you okay?" Jon turned to her immediately, a fleeting shadow in his brown eyes.

Arya tenderly felt her head, wincing when she found the assaulted flesh among her greasy locks. Her gloved already covered in blood, she couldn't much tell of any of it was hers or not. "I think I'm fine, it was just a glancing blow."

"Thank the Gods!" he breathed in relief, the corner of his lips tight with his own pain. "There's a bit of blood, but it doesn't look too bad. Just don’t go falling asleep," she gave him a deadpan expression at that.

They both gave themselves a moment of recovery, but didn't pamper themselves with it; they were in a mission, after all.

The instant she stood and straightened up, she felt like she wanted to barf a vast amount, whether she had it or not, and stumbled a step to the side. She took several deep breaths to keep from blowing chunks and straightened her head before she helped Jon up. That little stunt he had pulled, though it saved her life, didn't do the young man any good.

They didn't leave the tent through the front flap, but cut their own exit through the back of the tent, after checking to see that the cost was clear, and commandeering the Wildlings' weapons, ducked through the opening. The back of the tents seemed to be the path least travelled, and when she narrowly avoided a shit paddy (whether human or not, she knew not), she knew why. Her lips twisted in disgust, they hurried to behind the main tent, and crouched in the snow.

They could hear a wooden flute being played, the sound clearly coming from inside the tent, and hardy laughter, too. By the way the tent was set up, it was clear that it was in sections, she just hoped that they were at a lonely place.

With a shared looked with Jon, and bated breath, she carefully sliced a small opening in the fabric, peeked through to see if the cost was clear, and crawled through, Jon right behind her. And she crawled right into someone's legs. She looked up in horror, but her expression quickly changed into one of shock as her gaze looked into those of dark pits.

"Tanner!?" she gasped in disbelief.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **How do you like that for a surprise, huh? :) Things are gonna get just a but more interesting!**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Qhorin was killed, and Mance Rayder put his head on display outside his tent, but how?  
>  ~ Arya and Jon escape their restraints, killed their guards and head one tent over to kill Mance Rayder, only to run into the last person they expected to find there, Lt. Karl 'the Skull King' Tanner! (what the fuck?! I know, right?) :)_


	19. Chapter 19

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 18:_ —

Before Arya could get another word out, both her and Jon were dragged to the main room where all the laughter and harsh talk had been centered. It instantly went quiet when they were thrown to the center, the snow covered by many different rugs, a small fire pit in the center. There was chunks of meat cooking in the flames, filling the tent with a mouth-watering aroma.

Their stolen weapons were taken from them, and she held out the hope that Tanner would leave her her dagger, but he didn't, and instead passed it on to a Wildling woman with the other weapons.

She wanted to demand what the hell was going on, and what he was doing here, of him, but he flashed one look at her and she forcefully held her tongue. She shared a confused and fearful look with Jon, their shoulders pressed together for reassurance.

Again, like most things on their mission since going beyond the Fence and into the Neutral Zone, they failed even before they had really begun. But she refused to give in, they may be surrounded, and weaponless, but another opportunity to kill Mance Rayder and Ygritte would present itself. She and Jon had killed two Wildlings, and who knew what their punishment would be; hopefully, they were still needed alive to leverage Benjen.

But what was nagging her most, was Tanner. What was he doing here? When did he get here? Why was he still alive, relaxed surrounded by the enemy? All these questions, and no answers sooner in sight.

 _It must be a play_ , she figured.

"Did I not say she would attempt such a thing, Rayder?" Tanner murmured rhetorically, ignoring Jon and looking down at her, a automatic rifle hanging from his shoulder.

"You did." A man agreed, levering himself off a bench, a flute in hand. He had scraggly grey hair, slightly sagging jowls and harsh looking stubble, he was rounder around the middle, and dressed in plain brown furs.

So this was Mance Rayder, he didn't seem like much; an old man playing the flute, but looks could most definitely be deceiving—you didn't become King-in-the-North by sitting in a strum-circle.

"They must be really stupid or really brave to try such a thing," a fire-kissed Wildlings shook his head in mixed amazed-amusement at the thought from where he sat by the fire carving arrow shafts. "Too soon to tell now."

"Yes, Tormund, for the time being." He gazed lightly down at them, standing next to Tanner without much outward worry—it was almost like he trusted the Crow assasin. "So which was it, boy?" he pinned Jon. "What was it really that you thought you would accomplish by sneaking in here?"

Jon stared up at him resolutely, his lips pressed in a tight line that had nothing to do with the pain in his leg—he had so much adrenaline going through him right now, in fact, that he wasn't even feeling it at the moment—he had bigger worries to deal with, like staying alive. "By killing you, sir, in the hope of ending your attack on the Wall."

Mance seemed rather amused, but Tormund's wasn't to be kept silent as he let out a loud bark of laughter.

"Honourable," Mance said. "Fighting for your Wall, even if it meant death because surely you wouldn't have thought you would get out of here alive."

"What does that matter?" Arya scoffed. "You would be dead, but what makes you think we can be killed that easily? Because he's injured? Because I'm a girl?" she sneered at him.

"On the contrary," he said, not looking offended in the least. "Women are a very cunning and powerful creatures to behold; in most circumstance, they can be stronger than any man. No, I do not doubt that you would fight to the death, taking some of these men with you, but yes, you would die in the end. But I would expect nothing less from _his_ protégé," he jerked his head slightly at Tanner, "He killed a rather formidable enemy of mine and brought me his head, after all."

Arya had hardly enough mind to even attempt to keep her expression from changing from scorn, but it was rather hard when you found out that your mentor killed and cut the head off of your partner's mentor and gave it into the enemy. Jon was tense like a strung wire next to her, with a stillness in him that she had never known. What she was feeling, he was probably feeling more of it.

It was hard to believe, Tanner being a traitor, after everything. She looked up at the man who had been shaping her slowly into a better version of what she was right now. Nothing reflected in his eyes but dark pits, his skin bone-white, the fire casting harsh shadows and light across his face. She remembered the man she had been training with, all she had learned, and heard—and suddenly, maybe it wasn't that hard to believe.

He didn't deny killing Qhorin, instead, she detected the imperceptible upward curve to the corner of his mouth, even as his body manner and expression stayed completely the same—and knew it to be true.

Tanner had killed Qhorin - he was the enemy now - they would get no help from him. Suddenly, any hope that Arya had that her and Jon might get out of this alive (with Tanner's assistance, of course), was dead in the water and already sunken to the bottom.

"You... killed Qhorin." The words were hard to get out.

"I've been waiting for an opportunity like this, to take down the Wall, for such a long time, Stark." Tanner replied, his voice uninflected. "Halfhand served his purpose, as will the two of you."

Arya gritted her teeth harshly, glaring at Tanner so hard it almost hurt her. Her body was wire, she was ready to lung at him, wanting in this moment to kill him more than Mance—more than Ygritte—and the only thing that stopped her from the futile attack was the pressure Jon was leaning on her. A silent and insistent, with a calm tone: _not here not now._ She knew he felt the same as her, a might have done it, too, if he wasn't injured like he was.

"Th' bloody Crows are gone!" Ygritte cursed, bursting into the tent. "Manc—!"

"Lost somethin', did ya?" Tormund roared with laughter ; some of the other's joined in. "Need a little help?"

"Ye think yer so funny." She scoffed. "Didna get very far did ye?" she spat at Arya. The girl Crow saw it coming, but with her head, was too slow to block the strike to her face.

Jon let out an exclaim, and Arya spat a curse, touching the side of her stinging face to go along with her throbbing and aching head. She barred her teeth at the woman, but kept silent—for the time being—in the end, she would have her way.

"Enough,"

"She killed two men!" she protested to Mance. "Ye should've let me kill 'er, instead of bringin' her all th' way here."

"Why would I want to kill two fighters like these?" he said.

She looked at him open-mouthed. "They're th' enemy!"

"Wrong, woman." Tormund said, setting aside his shafts and taking up a skewer with roasting meat on it from roasting at the fire—Arya couldn't help but follow it enviously with her eyes. "He mean's to turn the Crow."

Now Ygritte was the only one to react in shock. Arya's first response was to laugh because the thought was just to incredulous. Her and Jon, turn cloaks? It was just laughable, but she knew that would be the wrong response. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from doing so, maybe this blow to the head was doing more than make her head thump and ears ring a bit.

"Ye can't be serious!" she exclaimed. "She'd never turn—she's Stark's niece, Mance."

Why did it always seem that they only spoke about her, like Jon wasn't sitting there right next to her. Did they already think that he was a goner, because of his leg? None of this was making any sense.

"I trained Stark. She'll do as she's told. She's not stupid, she knows when the tide has turned and will go with it, living under my shadow." Tanner said. His thin lips twisted. "Isn't that right, Night Wolf."

Arya bowed her head, her lips compressed tightly. _It was a play, it had to be_. It was the only thing that was keeping her together right now.

"Ah, but she has a black fire in her, doesn't she."

"All the best killer's do, Mance." Tanner simpered. "And Snow has had the same training as Ygritte for the last three-years under Qhorin, but you already have him, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not." Mance agreed. "Though injured I have seen good things, and Ygritte has reported the same."

Arya's eyes snapped to Jon's, he didn't meet her gaze, instead staring at Mance's boots in front of him. She couldn't believe it, not Jon—never Jon! He wouldn't do that, he could never betray her or Benjen like that, he loved them too much, he was too honourable. But then why wasn't he meeting her eyes?

She remembered back in the tent when it seemed he wanted to tell her something, but stopped himself; was this it? Was the guilt to hard for him? She wanted to scream and cry at the dismay that was building inside of her, but she wouldn't, not in front of the enemy.

She had learned recently that Jon had kept a great many secrets from her, was this one of them? All the times that they were never able to see each other over the last three-years, ever since they were split up.

Benjen had assigned Tanner to shadow Ygritte, but was that what was truly happening, or were they really planning?—and had Jon been a part of it from the beginning? Aargh! It just didn't make sense to Arya; the rumour of proof was there, but it just didn't sit right with her. Jon a traitor? It was something that just made no possible sense to her. She couldn't see it, or picture it. Jon was not a traitor, she knew that deep in her heart. All those meetings with Benjen, that was it, it was a plan by the pair of them, in case something like this ever happened—it had to be.

Maybe Benjen just didn't suspect that Ygritte was plotting, but that Tanner was in on it and maybe sent Qhorin to follow Tanner—and that was why the Skull King had beheaded the man!

She was reaching, she knew, but she didn't care.

Her grey eyes narrowed slightly in determination and hardened. She'd play along, until the time came when she and Jon could get a second alone with each other to _understand_ , and if that time never came, then she'd just play it by ear. Because a time would come, singly or together, when she would kill off her enemies—and she was not going to hesitate in taking it.

"When we go to the Wall, Benjen Stark will be in for the shock of his life—seeing his own niece and son fighting against him—it will kill him harder, more like, than an arrow through the stomach!" Tormund laughed through a mouthful of steaming meat, the juice running into his auburn beard.

"Come, eat." Mance told the pair, gesturing to the fire and more skewers of cooking meat. "We have a long march ahead of us."

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some pretty shocking shit, huh? Hope to hear your thoughts on who you think might be a traitor and who isn't! :)**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Tanner seems to have killen Qhorin and defected to the Wildlings, and forcing Arya into the bargain. Is it just a play? Or is he truly a traitor?  
>  ~ And Jon, had he really been under Ygritte's thumb all this time? Or has this been a plan of Benjen's all along?  
> ~ Looks like Arya is in a sea of enemies and traitors. But who is really a traitor and who isn't?_


	20. Chapter 19

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 19:_ —

Arya found herself surrounded by at least a hundred men and women of the enemy, and separated from Jon. The pair of them had eaten; they needed it, despite it being the enemies food, and just like Mance Rayder had claimed, it wasn't long after that they a small contingent of Wildling fighters headed south.

Her and Jon weren't restrained, but they weren't allowed any weapons either. Ygritte had taken charge of Jon, and because of his injury, they had the allowance of the snow-glider. Arya, on the other hand, was stuck with Tanner and Rayder.

She had found out that the Wall had yet to be attacked, that, much like this contingent, other Wildlings from the other camps were going to meet up on the north-side of the Fence, at the gorge on the Frost Fangs in the Beyond, where the mountains continued on the other-side of the Fence. Those groups were going to be bigger than this one, because Mance had already sent of group of his men and women warriors on ahead. This Wildling Army, together as a whole, would count at least a couple thousand—could the Wall handle that, even with their superior weapons and defensive?

The Wall, though the Seven Kingdoms, main military hub, was mostly used for the last several hundreds of years, purely as a training facility. And though it housed seasoned officers, most of whom had never seen action, half of that count was of green recruits still in training. It would be a slaughter, and just a matter of who got the worse end of the stick.

But none of that would happen if she could do something about it. Rayder had told them that it wouldn't matter if he died, the attack would still happen. And while Arya didn't doubt that, she knew nothing would be as cohesive as it was with him. Rayder was the one that brought all the camps together, who banded them with this cause (his cause), but if he was dead, if his daughter (Ygritte) was dead, and his second-in-command was dead (Tormund), then she was sure that everything else would slowly fall apart.

She just needed to talk with Tanner for a minute. See if he had really turned traitor or not, find out what the fuck his plan was.

—

It was when night fell on their second day of travel, and the Wildling company set up camp, that she managed to find Tanner alone—of course, he was at the edge of camp taking a piss, but that was beside the point. Desperate as she already was, she was going to wait for his to put his dick away at least before she confronted him, face-to-face—but he already called her out on it.

She took a deep breath of the crisp cold air that stung her throat and stepped from the shadow of a tent on the edge of the camp. Pissing or not, she was going to find out.

His back to her, she demanded, through the spatter of his piss in the snow and the wind, "Tell me this in an operation."

He finally finished, and tucked himself back into snow pants as he turned to her. His expression was cold as he looked down at her. "Keep your bitch-mouth shut, Stark." Tanner told her lowly. "I own you and you will do as I say."

"I'm a person, you can't—!" He backhanded her.

She stumbled in the snow at the force of, but did not fall. She straightened and glared at him, licking the blood from the corner of her lips—but as it were, she kept her 'bitch-mouth' shut—for the moment, at least. Apparently she stepped out of line, apparently this wasn’t an operation like she hoped.

"You are not a person. You became no one the second you joined the Wall—nothing but feedstuff to be used for others' purposes but your own." He grabbed her face with one bare hand painfully, pulling her face close to his. His voice was deader than a body, his eyes like black-holes. "Get your head out of your arse. Look around you at something other than yourself," he slowly turned them in a half-circle so that their positions were switched. "The reason you're alive right now is only because I can use you, as soon as that's finished, so are you. You do as I say, me and only me, and it might be that I make you my second, Stark, when I take over this 'army' of mindless mongrels from that fool Rayder." He dug his fingers into the cold, slightly frostbitten flesh of her cheeks harshly, his lips twisted in a sneer.

She felt cold inside all over again as she stared into his unblinking eyes; it wasn't like she could said 'yes sir,' with the way that he was squeezing her face. And just as suddenly, he shoved her back, tumbling in the snow, a surprised yelped leaving her as she narrowly missed his piss spot—and he just walked away, disappearing back into the camp.

As much as she didn't want to be laying right next to piss (heat visibly rising from it) , it felt like any energy that she had previously possessed, had left her; so she lay in the snow, working her sore jaw and tried to think through a few things.

She now knew that Tanner was on a operation, but apparently not one for the Wall, but for himself. He meant to kill Rayder (probably Ygritte and Tormund, too—and while she was pretty okay with that...) and take over the Wildling army that was gather on the northern-side of the gorge—but what did he mean to do with it then? Was he going to continue on with the attack on the Wall?

Arya gave a loaded sigh as she sat up in the snow—Just another enemy for her to kill. She got to her feet. The obvious thing to do was to wait for Tanner to take out the others, and then kill Tanner (something that was going to be harder than killing those three Wildlings combined), and hope that with all their leadership in the grave, the Wildlings would break up and head back into the Neutral Zone and back to their camps. And if that didn't happen, then it would be easier for the Wall to take care of a headless army than one with three- and then one-head(s).

She slowly made her way back into the camp.

Now, she just needed to find out where it was that Jon truly stood, for the Wall or the Wildlings because as much as she wanted and believed, he could be a traitor just as much as Tanner was.

—

They broke camp at sunrise. With this weather and their pace, they would be at the gorge within the next two-days. Arya was running out of time, slowly but surely.

Ygritte never seemed to leave Jon for a minute, and the teen was at the point of not caring if Ygritte was there when she confronted the young man or not—even though that would be one of the stupidest things for her to do.

She knew that Ygritte wasn't at Jon side 24/7, she just was always there whenever Arya managed to find them in camp. So next they set up for the night, she parked herself out of their sight, but them within hers, eating her small ration of food for the day—some dried meat, though she wasn't sure which animal [praying that it wasn’t human—though she hadn’t seen any River-clan or half-breeds thus far] , (not that it much mattered); she needed the food, so she ate it without complaint.

When she saw Ygritte finally slip from the small tent, Arya counted exactly three minutes before she made her move. She slithered in the shadows of the flickering fire from the scattered pits and erected tents, heading straight for Jon's tent. She didn't hesitate to duck inside and close one of the flaps, blocking herself from outside view where she crouched. Jon had been laying on his side, but had pushed himself upright with just a grimace.

What was first out of his mouth wasn't quite what she was expecting.

"Took you long enough to find me!" he hissed at her quietly through the side of his mouth.

Her response was just as tart.

"Well, sor-ry!" she scoffed at him in disgust. "I've been a little busy tryin' to figure out what the fuck was going on— _so why don't you explain it to me, Jon._ "

"Ygritte'll be back soon, so I'll be brief." He said hurriedly, her hurt and confused feelings didn't much matter right now. "I'm not really aligned with the Wildlings—"

"I would’a killed you if you were..." she muttered.

"—I've been to several secret meetings with Benjen and Qhorin since the beginning, almost since Ygritte first joined the Wall, all in preparation for something exactly like this happening—well, not _exactly…_ "

"And Tanner?" Arya asked, ignoring her anger at being left out of some very important information that would've had been pretty useful to her a while ago. "He said that he's planning on killing Rayder and taking over this Wildling army for himself."

He was clearly startled at this news. "Definitely not part of the plan—but not all that unthinkable. Benjen suspected that Tanner might have turned against the Wall, and that was why he 'assigned' Tanner to tail Ygritte, but made it a double tail with Qhorin following the both of them. But Tanner killing Rayder and the others? Maybe that does make more sense, rather than just joining the Wildlings—because what could he really gain from just doing that, besides making an enemy out of the Wall?"

"Well, it wasn't like he told me what he was going to do once he gained control," she said. "Just that he said if I behaved and obeyed, he would make me his second."

"He said that?" she nodded. "He really must value you, then."

"Yay," she deadpanned, "I'm feeling real special now—but at least he _told_ me _something_. That's more than I can say for either you or Benjen!" Her frustration and anger gripped for a moment. "So what was it? Didn't think I was capable? Couldn't handle the pressure? That hadn't seemed to have been a problem these last three fucking horrible weeks, now has it?!"

"Calm down!" he snapped at her, and she was startled into silence at his irate tone and demeanour. "Grow up, Arya. Your just a soldier, so am I, Benjen is the Lord Commander; it's his choice who he deals in and who he doesn't. We're just—

"Nothing..." she whispered, so quiet he didn't hear, repeating Tanner's words.

"—men and woman who are ready to put everything on the line for Country and family."

Well, that was better said than what Tanner had intimated to her—but she was sure that both were just as equally true.

There were silent for an instant and Arya couldn't stand it anymore. "What the fuck has been up with you?"

"You think this has been easy for me? You don't know what pressure and anxiety is until you've been through what I have been. This has been a three-year and counting operation, and it's been exhausting—and finally reaching this insufferable climax." He shook his head, a heavy breath leaving his chapped lips, brushing gloved fingers through his lank curls. "You're angry about us withholding information? Well, information's the heaviest burden one can have sometimes."

"You wouldn't feel that way if our roles were reversed," she said, but made no further comment on the matter. What would be the point of making a scene about it now; he was right after all.

"You better go," he said suddenly. "Ygritte could be back any time."

"Wait—but what's the plan?" she asked, shifting her feet under her, half risen, ready to move. "It'll just be another day before we reach the Frost Fangs and the gathering of the other Wildling camps; Tanner's going to make his move before then, he'll have less resistance in this small group—

"Maybe we should just let Tanner take care of the other, and then take care of him afterwards." Jon murmured. "If he plans on making you his second, then he might even have you assist him."

"Oh, I'll gladly do my bit." She confirmed, her greys eyes narrowed and dark in the shadow of the tent, with the only light leaking through the cracked flap by firelight. "But if you're sure that's how you want to play this?"

He nodded. "What other choice do we have? Tanner's a trained killer, he obviously has a plan, so until the time comes, we'll stay in his shadow. Hopefully, Benjen has a his soldiers in place by now; and they'll be there when the times come for the Wildlings siege."

Arya nodded. "I'll get us some weapons before then," and she ducked out of his tent and back into the shadows of the dark camp with its scattered fire pits—and not a minute to soon, either. It wasn't two minutes later that Ygritte returned, her usual hatchet tucked into her belt over her furs.

—

It wasn't as if the Wildlings had a armoury with them, one single cache, instead, they carried whatever they needed themselves, so Arya was going to have to work some slight-of-hand and shadow magic if she was going to claim anything. And it wasn't like she could just steal someone's machete, or bow and arrows, it had to be a dagger, something that she could conceal on herself, and something that could go missing unnoticed. It wasn't as if she could go through someone's tent, either. Wildlings always had their weapons on them, never went anywhere without them—and while that was smart, it was pissing her off a bit.

Slowly making her way through the camp, she camp upon them by complete chance. She had spotted Mance Rayder and Tanner sitting round a fire, and turned in the opposite direction, away from there—and they were just sitting there, a pair of jagged looking skinning knives sitting by a untended fire with the remnants of an animal. She looked around, and then quickly stooped down and swiped them, stuffing them quickly and deeply under her parka and into her snow pants, easily concealing their bulge on her slim body.

Acting natural, she went back to the tent that she was made to share with Tanner. Within the next day, the snow was going to drink up fresh blood and she would all too gladly be the cause for it.

Just whose and how much, well, that wasn't quite up to her, but the Old Gods.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're probably all hating on me right about now, aren't you. I swear, I am not dragging this out, okay? Cross my heart and hope to put a sword through my eye and out the back of my skull *wicked grin and a wink* Blood and glory in the next chapter, maybe... lol. :)**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ Tanner (playing both sides) intends to kill the Wildling King, Princess, and Second-in-Command, and take control of the army meeting at the Frost Fangs, north of the Fence, to attack the Wall—but if he actually intends to continue on with the crusade is still a mystery.  
>  ~ Jon, in a secret operation with Benjen and Qhorin, tricked the Wildlings (Ygritte), into believe that he had come over onto their side, when in fact, he is strongly aligned with the Wall—with Arya left out of the loop until now as the attack is closing in._


	21. Chapter 20

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 20:_ —

Arya was in a light sleep, something that she had perfected her first year at the Wall, having to wake up at a moments notice, but managing to still get the rest that her body deeply needed. She was curled on her side, her hand hidden in the dark at her pelvis, able to feel the hilt of the skinning knife pressed against her flesh and in easy reach were she to need it. She managed this sleep now, only in the fact of that she was going to need all the energy she could get for the next two days.

Someone was at the entrance of the tent, she could hear them there, it woke her instantly. She didn't move, kept her breath even, but hidden in the shadows, her hand moved beneath her parka and at the waistband on her snow pants, her fingers wrapping around one of the knives stashed there (she had yet to find the chance to give the other to Jon) and waited, whoever they were, if the tried something it would be their own surprise at finding this knife in their throats instead of her own.

She didn't think Rayder would try and do her in so quick, not after making sure that she was brought to him alive, but something could have changed while she had been sleeping or maybe a Wildling was even going against his orders because they weren’t happy with a Crow in their dens. Whatever one it was, didn't matter—if someone was about to die in this tent, she didn't plan on it being her.

They opened the flap and ducked in the entrance, blocking out any of the fire light and she tensed, ready to move the second they made their intentions known. Arya half-wished that it was Ygritte, would be all to happy to kill that bitch finally—but it didn't seem meant to be.

"That's shrewd, Stark." Tanner's murmur in the dark made her shudder. He blocked the flap, and though she couldn't see a thing, could feel him right there next to her in the dark. "Where'd you get those toothpicks?"

She pushed herself up, but kept her hand around the knife handle still. "What would you have me do? Walk around weaponless, I don't think so." She stared at his darker shape.

"Remembered your training like you should." He seemed to make an amused noise in the back of his throat that sounded more like a hiss instead. "We're a day away from the gorge, my move will be tonight, now. I will kill that fool and his caveman right-hand, and you will kill that bitch like you always swore you would."

She couldn't believe it, it was happening, right now; she thought that she would of had at least another day—but it appeared that she didn't. She nodded her understanding in the dark—tonight, tomorrow, how much of a difference did it really make? She would finally get to kill Ygritte like she had been wanting for the last three years.

"You will do it quiet, no commotion." He shifted and was back at the flap. "Oh, and Stark, know, if you fuck this simple thing up I will open you up and slit your throat from ear to ear. Got that?"

"Got it." she sneered.

"Hm." And then he was gone, simple as that.

Her heart continued to pound as she finally released her grip on the knife. A few deep breaths later, and she already knew what she was going to do. Ygritte, like any other night thus far, would be in that same tent with Jon.

She crawled from the tent and out into the dark of the camp made dim buy the shine of the three-quarter moon hanging lonely in the sky. She crept through the snow, and around the unevenly placed, but crowded tents in the camp—filled with sleeping Wildlings in their tents but for the dozen that were scattered around the whole of the camps perimeter on watch. The blow of the wind, snapping at the material of the tents covered the sound of crunching and shifting snow underfoot.

She stopped a tent away from Jon and Ygritte's keeping an eye on it for any movement or noise as she calmed her breath and slowed her racing mind. She pulled the same knife from her waist, the one that she had gripped while in the tent with Tanner, and shifted it in her gloved hand.

She didn't want to have to do this in front of Jon, but she wasn't going to let that hold her back. This needed to be done, it had nothing to do with Tanner, this was personal Stark business and she wasn't going to let that get in the way.

Ygritte would be in there, asleep, her defences, her guard, down. Arya got up and rushed the tent, throwing the flap aside, her knife brandished ready to strike, but something was missing—there was only one occupant in the tent, not two.

Startled awake, Jon pushed himself up, squinting through the dark. "Who—Arya?"

"Where's Ygritte?" she demanded.

"She was called to a meeting with Rayder." He said. "Why? What's happening?"

"Fuck!" Arya cursed; just her damned luck! "It's happening, now! Tanner's making his move right now—but if Ygritte's with Rayder, than Tormund is, too! Fuck! Take this." She pulled out the second concealed knife hidden in her waistband and thrust it in his direction, handle first.

He took it, confused. "Arya, what're you—?"

She didn't have time for this shit. "I have to go!"

He called out to her, but she had already gone. Cursing himself, he started to get to his feet, his leg injury greatly hindering him. All this travelling and improper care was not helping his wound heal any.

Running through the camp, panic in her heart, knife hidden from view at her side, she headed for Rayder's tent. Located at the center of camp, it was the easiest to locate, and easily the biggest of all the makeshift shelters. She came to a halt a few tents shy, hiding from view behind a supply sled. Two Wildling guards lounged at the entrance of the tent, she could see the flame light leaking through from the inside. It didn't seem that there was a commotion happening. Tanner must have put his play on hold as soon as he realized that a meeting was happening—was probably in there right now.

The question was… as soon as the meeting was finished, was he going to kill Rayder and Tormund when it was over? Either way, Arya knew that Ygritte was going to die tonight, at Arya's hand.

She thought that she was going to have wait in for the long haul, but it wasn't actually that long before there was movement. Careful to keep hidden, she peeked over the top of the supplies, keeping immobile. The tent flap opened and someone stepped out, red-hair briefly flared in the firelight.

Ygritte.

Still keeping the woman in view, Arya waited to get some distance between them before she started to follow, sticking with the darkest of shadows. She'd wait until the princess entered a less populated area of the camp before she made her strike; she come up behind her, quick and quiet like, make quick work of the woman before she even knew what happened—quick and clean, just like Tanner taught her.

There was a break in tent density as they neared the main and central fire pit of the camp, and Arya knew that this would be her one and only chance before they made it back to Jon.

She rushed silently forward through the snow, the knife raised up in her right hand. She was left-handed, and Ygritte knew that, so attacking with her right would be unexpected. She briefly wished that she still had that second knife instead of giving it to Jon so she could go at the Wildling with a double attack, but threw the thought aside just as quick; she could leave Jon defenceless, not after what she was about to do—when all shit broke loose when it was discovered.

She was just about at Ygritte's back when another person stumbled out from between the tents, and Arya had only a moment to register that it was Jon (panting, sweating and looking ready to pass out about now) before she swung the knife.

Whether Ygritte knew that she was there the whole time or not, or whether Jon's sudden appearance clued her into something amiss, didn't matter—not when the result was the same. She just managed to twist and escape what would have been a fatal strike to the side of the neck. The short knife cut harmlessly through the furs there as she grabbed Arya's wrist over her shoulder, wrenched her arm harshly and flipped the smaller girl over her shoulder and onto her back in the snow.

Arya groaned through grunted teeth at the pain shooting up and down her right arm and through her shoulder, her knife lost somewhere, the breath knocked out of her—but she couldn't dwell on the pain dulled by the adrenaline, she was in the middle of a fight after all.

Ygritte snatched her hatchet from her belt in a quick move and drew it back in the air before bringing it back to down towards Arya's head with a grunt.

"NOO!" Jon screamed, jumping forward—or at least trying to—his injured leg gave way under him and he collapsed to the ground.

But Arya had only been still for about three seconds before she was already on the move and the axe bit harmlessly into the snow. Arya rolled into a crouch, her left hand clutching her limp and useless right arm. Her eyes as much on Ygritte as she picked her axe back up, as on searching for her lost knife. Jon was several feet behind her and to the left (thankfully)—she was an idiot for not thinking it sooner.

"Jon," she muttered, tense, her eye trained on the fire-kissed Wildling as she smirked with her advantage. Arya released her useless arm and held her arm out behind her, her gloved fingers curling in a gesture.

Jon caught her meaning straight off, cursing himself, as he quickly grabbed the knife she had given him back in the tent, and flung it over to her—it landed in the snow a few feet away. Ygritte jumped at her with a cry and Arya scrambled backward, doing a complete revolution in the snow, snatching up the knife as she came back around, just in time for the woman to be on her.

Arya slashed the knife as Ygritte brought her small axe in a cross-swing. The axe knocked the knife harmlessly out of her hand, narrowly cutting it off in the process, and she started to bring her arms of in a block as she started to launch herself to the side, forgetting that her right arm was inept at her side as Ygritte kicked her right under her chin, right through the gap in her defence that her right arm had left.

Arya barely managed to tilt her head back enough so that it was a glancing blow that knocked her backwards instead of probably breaking her jaw and her teeth, too. She tried to get up again, despite the spots in her vision, but she had hardly attempted to do so before Ygritte jumped on top of her, planting her sharp knees roughly in her chest.

"Knew it was only a matter o’ time before ye tried somethin'." She chuckled above her.

Arya glared at her through narrowed slits and gritted teeth. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Their roles were supposed to be reversed. She had gone in half-cocked and stupid, she knew that she should of held off on the attack of Ygritte as she saw that Tanner hadn't taken out either Rayder or Tormund—but she had let her hate fuel and direct her actions instead. She'd been so sick of wishing and waiting, she just wanted to done with, just like this whole fucking mission.

It was just supposed to be a eventless watch, but it was anything but. This waiting was slowly killing her, more than the food, and water, and cold. Arya spat at the woman above her and a gob of spit leapt from between her lips; Ygritte flinched a little a the spittle landed on her cheek.

She wiped it away on her sleeve with a scoff and punched Arya sharply in the eye for her trouble. Though it hurt like a bitch, it was worth it; and she knew that the woman got her intended meaning loud and clear.

Arya made a swipe at her with her left arm, but it was easily blocked and grabbed hold of.

"This time, you're not getting away with it, troll. No one is here to stopped me." Ygritte hissed through her teeth and shifted her grip on Arya's left hand, and snapped her trigger finger without hesitation—Arya gritted her teeth through the pain, but didn't make a sound though it hurt more than that punch to the eye.

Jon called out to her, trying to stop her from killing his best-friend and partner, "Ygr—", but the woman ignored him completely.

She grabbed up the skinning knife that she had just disarmed Arya with and stabbed the Stark laying beneath her.

Arya expected feel the blade slid quick and sharp through the think layer of skin at her throat; expected to choke briefly on her own blood, starring up into the triumphant eyes of her enemy. Instead, she let out a cry of pain and surprise before she could bite her lips bloody to stop the sound as Ygritte drove the balde harshly though her snow pants and into her thigh.

She twisted the blade in her leg and Arya choked on the shriek of pain, bucking and writhing, trying to throw off the heavier body on top of her. But it was fruitless, her one leg was proven immobile (courtesy of the knife currently embedded and twisting in it), and her right arm was just the same, broken (it wasn’t the first time) and her shoulder seemed to be dislocated, too.

Ygritte laughed merrily above her, revelling in the pain that she was finally able to inflict as other Wildlings started to emerge from their tents at the ruckus. Jon made a hopeless sound behind her. The Wildling struck out painfully at her injured arm and shoulder, and Arya's grunt of pain was cut short as she was finally overwhelmed by the black spots in her vision.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **When is this cat-and-mouse shit between Arya and Ygritte ever going to end? — one might being asking right now (*chuckles*), it's all just to keep you reading (just joking) (maybe) (surely), guess you really will have to keep reading to find out, won't you? (*evil laughter*)**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> **Frost Fangs (2)** = Located on the upper west side of the Beyond, the Fangs have a natural gorge cutting through the mountains almost in line with the Fence, but the range continues on in the west side of the Neutral Zone and extends northward, almost to the boarder of the Land of Always Winter.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Tanner attempts his take-over of the Wildling camp, but holds off with some unforeseen circumstance’s arrival, but Arya has no such quarrel with still killing Ygritte—but her eagerness backfires in her face._


	22. Chapter 21

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 21:_ —

Ygritte's laughter still echoed mockingly in Arya's head, even as she groaned quietly back into consciousness. She cracked her heavy eyes into the bright white blindness of the Neutral Zone. Her vision and body was jerky and haulty, and she could feel the sickness in the back of her throat. She closed her eyes again, tiredly fighting the reaction of with the rocky motion.

It took her longer that she would have liked—not to mention finding out why her world was bumpy and bobbing around at an unnatural angle.

She cracked an eye open again, a mere slit to limit the affect it had on her and finally, through the ringing in her ears, she discerned the crunching of footsteps through the snow. She could hear heavy breathing, grunting, and sometimes a chocked off groan of pain—all tied around the passing of the scenery.

She lifted a heavy arm and it barely reached her face when she felt a small tug. Confused, she pulled her wrist harder and bit the inside of her cheek till she tasted copper on her parched tongue, at the harsh pain that flared in her thigh. She quickly dropped her hand, her broken finger hardly noticeable compared, breathing roughly through her nose for a long moment until it finally turned into a bearable throb.

The motion paused briefly before she vaguely heard a wordless noise in her muffled ears and continued on its halty and bumpy way.

Her leg was on fire, her thigh throbbing and prickling, like she was being poked continuously with a needle—it like a kid pulling the legs off a grasshopper.

Still breathing the cold air through her sore nose, she carefully brought her wrist back up as far as she dare. Why had it cause her so much pain? She tucked her chin in (making pain flare up in her neck and right shoulder) and looked down her nose. Starting to go a bit cross-eyes and nauseous, she forced her eyes straight and in catching the light was what appeared to be a thin wire—even a thread—tied around her left wrist and attached to something out of her view on her lower body, presumably to the thing that caused so much pain.

She dropped her hand back onto her chest. What the fuck?

Ygritte had gotten the best of her—for what seemed like too many times already—and instead of killing her like she easily could have, had stabbed her in the left thigh, twisting the knife in deep and cruelly. Against her better desire, she had passed out from the pain (she'd never live that down), and now it appeared she was on a makeshift gurney being dragged through the changing snowy landscape by someone who appeared to have one leg, poor eyesight, and was wasted (not like she could see the guy, but it sure as hell felt like he had all these misfortunes going for him).

She wondered how long she had been knocked out, but only knew that it was long enough that it was the next afternoon and they had broken camp for the last day-journey to the gorge at the Frost Fangs—the Wildling convergence place before the final attack on the Wall.

This wasn't how any of this was supposed to of happened. Tanner should have killed Rayder and Tormund and gained control of the camp, while she finally killed Ygritte. But neither of those three were dead, and she was injured pretty roughly—and once again, didn't know where the hell Jon was.

She heard a muffled holler and the crunch of her puller stopped but she continued to slide for several feet as he stumbled to a halt on exhausted legs. The stretcher came to a stop as its edge bumped into the back of the man's leg and they gave out beneath him. He dropped into the snow with a grunt and onto his side along the stretcher a moment after that. Pushing the pain away briefly, she craned her neck to catch view of the man that the Wildlings had dragging her like an jackass.

Her eyes widened and she gasped as she saw the dark, lank curls of her partner peeking from beneath the filthy and bloody hood of his parka. "Jon!"

She reached out her good arm, the one attached with the wire and reached for him, her fingers gripping the shoulder of his coat as he huffed with uneven breaths, ignored the pain in her thigh and throb in her right arm and shoulder and heaved with what little strength she had left. She managed to drag him the two feet so that their faces were level, and laid back, panting and gritting through the pain.

She knew she couldn't stay laying down here forever, but for now it was all she was able to do.

She reached for Jon's head, knowing that if she took her glove off, she'd never get it back on, and managed to expose her wire wrist enough to get a patch of flesh against Jon's beaded forehead through his curls. She gave a quiet curse, as she had suspected and dreaded, he was running a fever, one that was on fire. He was exhausted, dehydrated and hungry. And with his leg... pulling her all this way—she wondered how he hadn't passed out earlier and scolded herself for being weak and passing out like she had in the first place.

She couldn't see Jon's leg from where she was, and knew that she had to sit up for more than that single reason.

She gave a stifled whimper at the tug of thread as she took her immobile right arm and put it in her lap before she tucked her good arm at her side and forced herself up onto her elbow. She caught her breath after a minute and groaned through her teeth as she strained and managed to get herself sitting up, slumped forward. It took so much effort getting here that she want to just lay back down and rest, but knew that if she did that, she was like not to get back up for a long while—and that just wasn't acceptable right now.

The bandage around his thigh was an ugly matter. It was soiled with blood and yellow fluid like mucus, frozen on the bandage. Without even actually inspecting the through and through arrow wound, she knew that it was infected. Without proper care; sterilization, antibiotics, bandaging—it was inevitable, only a matter of time.

With a helpless sigh, she finally looked around at her surroundings through squinted grey eyes. Up ahead, about seventy-feet, she could see the Wildling group that they had been travelling with, and to the west, she could see the Frost Fangs. Farther ahead of that, like pinpricks in the distance, she could faintly see the outlines of other Wildlings, more Wildlings, all the other camps coming to greet their leader, ready to finally enact their plan. They had reached the Wildling meet-up and the Wall’s mission had been a complete failure.

But no one seemed to be guarding them, had any concern for the pair—not even Ygritte. Maybe they knew that both her and Jon were useless, too injured to even get up let alone enact an escape for another attack plan. It was laughable and sick and Arya wondered what Benjen's plan was going to be as well. But thoughts like that didn't much help her and Jon at the moment, right now they needed to figure out a plan for themselves—that was all they could do right now.

She looked at her leg and the result of Ygritte's revenge (or so she assumed). Ironically injured in the same leg and in about the same place a Jon, the skinning knife had made ugly work of her previously unmarred, toned (now paler and a bit bluish) flesh. About two inches long, it was jagged, all that twisting around Ygritte had done frayed the edges of the lips of the separated flesh. It wasn't bandaged, but left exposed and someone had stitched in a continuous looping manner (worse than the way she threaded before she came to the Wall about four years ago). It was unevenly stitched and bunched together, caked in dried blood and seeping something that didn't quiet look like blood. She discovered that the thin wire tied around her wrist was connected by a short length to the same thread that was weaved through her flesh.

She brought it to her lips and tried to snap the connection of the wire, but to no avail other than to hurt her mouth. She tasted metallic in her mouth and inspected the wire closer, knowing that it wasn't the taste of blood in her mouth. As she had suspected and dreaded, and now confirmed, she was going to need wire-cutters or something like it to cut through it—or worse come to worst, she was going to had to pull on the wire hard enough to pull the anchoring knot through the scattered holes in her flesh. She wasn't quite up to or for, that, just yet.

Despite the cold, it still felt hot and itchy and she took a palm full of snow and pressed it to the wound with a grimace.

Still fighting the urge to lay back down and never get back up again, she left that clump of snow on her thigh and grabbed another, this time reaching towards Jon face that was slightly behind her now, inching her injured leg up to prevent a harsh pull of the wire, hovered her hand above his dry and cracked lips as he still breathed heavily. She squeezed her fist tight and kept it clenched and slowly but eventually, the snow started to melt. The drops ran out the bottom of her hand and pattered and dribbled onto his lips, and into his mouth through the small parting. He seemed to gagged a little, but did not wake and watched as his throat worked convulsively, taking the cold and much needed H2O. She did this once more for him and then for herself, before sprinkling a thin layer of snow on his burning forehead to see if she could cool his fever down a bit.

There wasn't much she could do for his leg wound. It needed a thorough cleaning out, but it was either going to have to wait until they somehow managed to get back to the Wall and this Wildling business was over, or they were both dead and it wouldn't matter anyway.

There wasn't even that much she could do for herself, either. Her whole right arm was useless to her, disconnected from the rest of her body at her shoulder and broken down in the middle, it just caused her needless pain.

She turned her gaze from Jon and back to the Wildlings making temporary camp before their attack. She wondered if she managed to do away with the wire, would she be able to get Jon on the stretcher in her place and head for Frost Fangs. Maybe their absence wouldn't be noticed for a while and she found another cave like the one on the other side of the Fence in the Beyond—the cave that had saved them from hypothermia.

She scoffed and shook her head, staring longingly at the Frost Fangs that were probably about half a mile away, just a dream. They'd be caught in a minute with only one arm, and her leg even more screwed up after she tore the wire out...

Her gaze was drawn back to her unconscious partner. Even just that brief flare of hope, thickened her determination on the matter. She wasn't just going to give up, that wasn't the kind of Stark that she was. She'd see Ygritte dead and her and Jon safe back at the Wall—she'd even be willing to give up the former to accomplish that latter.

She pulled the glove from her hand with her teeth, leaving her in the fleece. Despite not wanting to let her guard down and how much energy it took out of her to just sit up, she knew it was the right choice to lay back down. She was going to need to conserve herself for the battle that was closing in, she'd need every last ounce if her and Jon were going to survive this.

She lowered herself back onto the stretcher, careful of the wire and careful of her broken arm and dislocated shoulder as they throbbed with renewed pain. Breathing through her nose, the glove still in between her teeth, using her tongue and lower jaw, she worked the not pleasant tasting material (which was the least of her worries; dirty and bloody) into her mouth until her cheeks were bulging.

She took one last look at the clear and clean sky with it shinning sun before she closed her eyes to it, and took several deep and centering breaths. She'd always been impatient and easy to frustrate and it was Ned that had taught her how to do this when she around ten. She'd never really used it, or needed it more than she did right now because of what she was about to do was gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.

She focused on a central point in her mind’s eyes, taking each deep breath as a connected action, one that started to slow and even out, become smooth. Everything faded down to the background; the howling wind, that clamour in the distance of the camp, Jon's heavy breathing—and most importantly, the pain. The current pain that was riddling her body and pain that was soon to come about from her own actions. She breathed, and she carefully moved her left hand, hooking the wire around the edge of her hand and then started to loop it around over and again. She exhaled, and stopped when she felt a faint tug that made a muscle in her cheek twitch. She breathed as she clenched her so tightly she could feel the bones in her hand crick at the force (ignoring the pain that her broken trigger finger elicited at the action—it was the least of her pains right now). And she exhaled a slow breath as she started to pull her hand towards her shoulder, the wire taunt as she pulled at it. Her breath was jagged as she felt the sharp pain of it cut through her leg and resist her. Her whimper was choked off in the glove in her mouth as she felt that resistance give a little, like a notch being moved. She squeezed her eyes tight, breathing heavily through her nose, tears coming out the corner of her eyes.

She pulled harder, a steady pressure as she tried to even her breaths, focus on that center, let everything else fade away. Each exhale held a bit of that pain as each loop was pulled free, the anchor knot gouging through her flesh. There were only five loops, but it felt like a dozen.

By the end of it, when her hand finally jerked to her shoulder, unanchored, her body was shaking, her breath harsh in her lungs and out her nose, the glove almost chocking her before she had enough mind through the fresh pain to spit the soggy item out.

She grasped above her injury, shifting on the stretcher, blocking a small sob with her clenched teeth as she continued to gasp. She grabbed more handfuls of snow and piled it on the open and freshly bleeding wound—she needed to numb it.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed that the sun had moved a bit, and that hours had passed since they had made camp. While she was glad the no one was paying any attention to the pair of them, she worried on the matter. Now that their King was among them, the Wildlings would finally attack, most like when night fell. Though they were meeting up at the gorge, she suspected that that wasn't how they were going to get across. The Wall hadn’t continued the Fence along it for a reason—it was wide, deep, and deathly.

She didn't know if the power going out in the Fence was an act of nature or Wildling, but suspecting that during all those bottom tier attacks by the White-Walker-Wildling half-breeds, the Wall hadn't been able to send a unit out and return power to the Fence—if the power was still out, then it was an advantage on the Wildlings part, which Arya didn't like one bit.

Jon had all the information on this operation, and she had nothing but what he had vaguely told her. Shoving down her resentment towards him and Benjen both on the stupid decision on their part, she had no clue what Benjen's plan of attack was. There were so many things that he could be doing, but she'd just have no idea until Jon fucking woke up—and with his fever, almost still where it was when she had first checked it and the infection to his leg wound—she had no idea when it was. She was going to have to work this alone for now.

She dripped another handful of melted snow into Jon's parted lips absentmindedly as she continued to think through it all.

They had do get out of here, but she needed more time as she ate some snow herself before sprinkling a layer of Jon's damp forehead and putting more on her leg wound as it continued to burn and sting, exposed to the cold and still freshly assaulted by her own doing. That wire thing had been some dark shit, a way to both hurt her and prevent her trying to escape. She wondered if it had been Ygritte or Tanner's doing—and had a hard time deciding. And though she had injured herself in doing so, she'd beat their game. The wire no longer kept her immobile, she just had to gather her strength and wait for the right time to make her move.

—

Some-crazy-how, she'd fallen into a doze that did nothing to steal her for a moment away from her pain or refuel her depleted energy. It was the champ of footsteps in the snow drawing closer to her and Jon that woke her. She kept still and cracked her eyes open to find herself staring up in a grey dusk sky with little blips of glowing stars.

The footsteps were too heavy to be Ygritte, too loud to be Tanner, uncaring of how much noise they were making. It must be a Wildling that was sent to finally check on the two of them and make sure that they were still alive. And though she was glad of it, she couldn't believe how stupid the Wildlings were to think that either her or Jon could be used as a bargaining chip—injured like they were, or not.

Light flashed across their still forms and by its contrast and steadiness, she knew that it must've been one of their confiscated flashlights instead of a lit torch. Keeping her eyes open the barest amount so that her short lashes brushed her cold cheeks, he was nearly upon her. She got just a glance of him as he stopped at an angle around next to her uninjured knee (thankfully, her injuries, both old and new were contained on her left leg) and quickly closed her eyes as the flashlight beam flashed between her and Jon continuously.

She didn't have to wonder how he was going to check if they were dead or just unconscious, when a moment later, he kicked her in the thigh, jolting her. Though she was expecting something of the sort, didn't mean it didn't hurt. She was able to hold back the whimper, but not the flinch and hoped that he didn't notice. He gave a grunt as the beamed lingered on her face, she could see it brightly through her closed eyelids.

She didn't know when she'd get another chance, she had to act now—ignoring the pain more than ever as she felt a fresh rush of adrenaline though her veins, dulling the pains considerably. Eyes snapping open, in a quick move, she drew her right knee up and struck out at an angle, jolting her body. He made a strangled noise, and though it was hard to see, she knew she had hit him right where she had intended.

As he dropped to his knees, grabbing his deeply assaulted dick and balls (the dropped flashlight beam cutting across her legs and bathing Jon in the half-blocked glow), she already had the end-knot of the unravelled wire clenched between her front teeth. Before he could get his sense about him and the true danger that he was already in, using her abdominal and back muscles, she surged forward, her left arm reaching out and grabbing the closest shoulder, jerking him to her, and just as he let his jewels go she swung her arm in a circle above his head, the wire around her wrist following its lead and she managed to get the short length around the Wildling's neck.

He gave a shout that was cut off as she cinched the wire. He started striking at her, his face anchored to her chest. He battered her whole body, jolting her, hitting her face, her injured arm and shoulder, even her leg that nearly made her leg go. It was killing her teeth, biting into her the flesh of her wrist, but she kept on pulling, kept on choking him. She heard a faint grunt from next to her over the ruckus the Wildling was, and she guessed one of his weakening hits managed to connect with Jon (though he still stayed unconscious).

She never really thought about how long it took to strangle someone to death—and that was what she planned on doing. She supposed that her own strength, and his, and the tool she was using to do it were taken into consideration, and nothing had felt like it was taking so long in her life. It was making her impatient and frustrated and she wished the guy would just fucking die already!

She was weakening, just like he was; as breath left him, strength was leaving her. She didn't know how much longer she could take this pain, before finally, his struggles came to a faltering halt and his head, shoulders, and arms were heavy on her body. She didn't immediately let go, less it was faint of some kind, but waited an excruciatingly long moment before she let her left hand drop, and the wire was yanked from between her locked jaw.

She lay there gasping, her body shaking from the strain and the pain. His weight on her chest was heavy and making it harder to breath, but it was a couple minutes before she actually collected enough strength back to shove him off her, groaning in both relief and pain.

What she wouldn't do for those pain killers that she hated because they made her mind funny.

She didn't know how long it was before the Wildling man's absence was noticed and they sent someone looking, but knew she had an hour at the very stretched most. She give herself a few minutes to rest, and gather herself before she stopped laying around.

She didn't have the luxury of time like all the other occasions that she had been injured, and never as rough and bad as she was right now.

"Jon?" she turned her head and looked at her partner, still out, and still huffing. She could see the short, quick billows puff from between his lips in the light from the flashlight. "Jon!" she said it louder this time, lifting her left hand to give him a little shake to see if that would do it, she didn't think that she could do this completely on her own, but before she could reach him, her arm was jerked to a halt. She furrowed her brows at it, and gave it another tug before she realized that the wire that was tied around her wrist, must've still been caught around the Wildling's neck.

She gave a groan of frustration and after a minute of jarring her injured body, she got the wire from around his neck and wrapped it loosely around her hand again. She couldn't tell if the dark blood that gleamed on the wire was from her leg would, or from where it cut into the flesh of his neck. It didn't matter either way, she was glad that she had enough mind to think of using it as a weapon, it was only right after it was used to both harm and imprison her.

She patted Jon around the cheeks with the back of her three healthy fingers, and got a low moan in response, but nothing else. She was glad for it anyways, it meant that he wasn't completely swallowed by the fever. Speaking of, she checked it again and to her relief, it didn't seem as hot as before. Needing him to wake the fuck up, she flicked his nose with her middle finger, and that seemed to get a real reaction out of him. He jerked and gave a bit of a startled cry, his brown eyes flickering open, unfocused as he groaned.

"Jon!" she called loudly. He moaned again, but his eyes seemed to focus a bit. "Jon, I need you to _wake_ _up,_ get it? Now is not the time to have a fever, 'kay? Jon!" his eyes had started to flutter closed and jumped back open at her shout. "Stay awake! Here me? Stay awake!"

"Mmm, 'kay." He mumbled, though they were already drooping a moment later.

"Dammit!" she cursed and started the process of sitting back up again. She groaned, but managed it, and was left panting at the exertion and pain. She grabbed a handful of snow and dropped it on Jon's face.

His reaction was startled, and he jolted, half-sitting up in the snow, blinking at her through the light beam, through squinted eyes and flickering lids. "Wha...?"

" _Jon_. Fo-cus."

He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a few seconds, and when he opened them again, he actually looked at her. "Y-yeah."

"We're going to switch places, got it? I'm gonna get off the stretcher and you're gonna get on." She told him.

"Um-hmm." He bobbed his head loosely, his eyes going in and out of focus.

She took several breaths. Her useless arm in her lap, she tried not to use her left leg as she moved two feet away from Jon, off the stretcher and into the snow, pressed against the dead Wildling that she had just killed, ignoring it, as she grimaced it pain. "C'mon."

Jon grunted as he dragged himself, wincing, and groaning, onto the stretcher. "'Kay?" he mumbled, a sigh laced with pain, as his fever dragged him back under.

"Yeah," she sighed. She turned her gaze from him and focus on the Wildling as she searched him. He had a water skin, a spearheaded-blade, and a small axe on him; she stowed them on the stretcher with Jon and secured them. She reached around his hunched form and managed to get the flashlight, which she clipped onto her park after turning it off. And managed to relieve him of his smelly fur cloak; it was no use to him anymore, but would be handy for them as she draped it over Jon.

She gave herself a minute to breathe and focus herself again—this was going to be harder than getting up after Tanner shot her off the wall in Craster's Keep. When she knew that she couldn't delay herself any longer, she used the dead man's hunched form to get her knees under her, then put weight on her left leg as she got her right foot under her, and after a breath, using just her left arm, pushed herself up with a whimper, giving a cry of mixed relief and pain as she stood up.

She limped around to the end of the stretcher, and bent at the waist to get the length of rope that was tied to it, the one that Jon had used to pull her. She pulled it over her left shoulder and cross it over her chest, wrap it around her waist, and then loop it once more around her arm. With one last look at the Wildling camp, with its scattered fires, she dug her feet in and with a deep breath and gritted teeth, leaned forward and pulled Jon's dead weight to the West and towards the Frost Fangs, using the luminous of the moon as a faint lamplight.

As much as she was adverse to running from a fight, she knew when it was a losing battle and there were more important things to take care of in hand.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know you all are probably hating on me for dragging this bitch out. How many chances has Arya had the chance to end this? And all that nonsense. I swear to god that I'm not doing to on purpose — if you're into that, then enjoy — if not, it'll be over soon.**
> 
> **The Key:  
>  Stark Notes:**
> 
> _~ The Wildlings have all gathered at the Frost Fangs, with their King now among them, the attack on the Wall is immanent. What is Benjen’s own plan of attack on the Wildlings? Will Arya and Jon make it to safety?_


	23. Chapter 22

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 22:_ —

Arya vaguely remembered the days when she thought that her time training under Thorn were exhausting and rough, but her perspective changed a bit. Slogging through the snow that buried her legs to her shins, dragging the heavy burden of Jon's unconscious form on the stretcher behind her as the cold, snow-laden wind buffeted her, stinging her face and eyes and making it all that much harder to breathe.

She had to keep moving, if she stopped, she'd never get going again. That was the truth, and her heavy brain knew it, so her battered body strung itself together and kept on moving. She found herself in a mindless state, the one she sometimes let herself fall into when she was sent on a long run, or put to the menial tasks of Slop Duty and Spud Duty in the kitchens as punishment. It was a way for her brain to shutdown and shut out the pain that, if acknowledge, would shut her body down, too.

It would take her almost two hours to get to the Frost Fangs if she had been healthy dragging Jon behind her; it was going to take twice as long as that in her current condition. Every step was a grand effort on her part, even grander was her taking another one once she took that last. To pick her feet up again when all her legs wanted to do was collapse beneath her and never work again.

It made her think of her brother, Bran, and how he was forever confined to a wheelchair without the use of his legs, forever unable to become a Crow. He was one of the reasons why she had to keep going, one of the people she couldn’t let down. She had made a promise to him, she’d kept it for the last two-years and she wasn’t going to stop now just because death lingered threateningly in the shadows around her.

She wished that she could have anchored her right arm proper, but having barely enough mind to think of stuffing her hand into her parka pocket was all that she could manage and that was something she was just grateful to have managed in the first place.

She didn't know when, but she was having an itch between her shoulder blades—not a physical one, but a mental one maybe. She wondered if the Wildlings had already found the body of their comrade and discovered them gone. Following them would be easy enough, just follow the path that was cut into the snow from the stretcher—even at night like this, it would be as simple as if she'd been laying a trail of bread crumbs. It wasn't like she could cover her trail up, she wasn't up to that in the least. And if she had been healthy enough to lay a cover-trail, she wouldn't of been in this situation at all.

In the back of her mind, she kind of hoped that maybe their absence _had_ been noticed and they sent a party after the pair—and leading that party would be Ygritte. She really wanted to have another go at that woman, and this time to finish it for real—but she also knew that was just fantasy. Those Wildling kids she had first seen in the camp, they would be able to take care of her no problem, it was embarrassing and shameful, but truthful all the same.

She couldn't look behind her, she'd trip and fall on her face if she did that, and wouldn't be able to get up afterward; and if she stopped, she'd never get going again. So she didn't and focused on going forward, despite the itch that never left her, that nagging, the chill, the target on her back.

If she made it to the Frost Fangs, she knew they'd be safe, they just had to be, otherwise, that the fuck was all this for? If they died after all this fear, torture and helplessness... she just couldn't accept something like that, so she just wasn't going to let it happen—she was stubborn like that.

On and one she trudged, the sky ever darkening around her, clouds in the sky moved restlessly, flitting over the moon, blacking out her sight. But on she went, just a beaten down wolf pup dragging a taken down caribou.

She closed her eyes against a powerful gust of wind, not even able to feel the sting of snow against her numb and frostbitten cheeks. She should have opened her eyes sooner, but then it was to late for even that to do a thing.

She let out a soundless cry, helpless as the toe of her boot caught on something in the snow and she was thrown forward. She had just enough time to twist her torso right and land on her left side, even as her bad leg got the full force of the fall—but even then, it was better than if she had landed on her right side with her arm. Her exclaim of pain was swallowed by the night and the wind and the snow that surrounded her. She used what energy she didn't have and turned herself onto her back, tangled in the rope from the stretcher.

It had come to a halt almost on her feet. Jon didn’t even stir at the jolt, be then the whole ride had been jerky from the beginning, just as hers had been.

She stared up into the sky through blurry, tear-filled eyes as she gasped. She needed to get up, she knew that she did, but she just needed a minute of rest. That was what she told herself, kept telling herself. The snow seemed just so comfortable, like a cloud. It was supposed to be cold, and for a bit, she could feel it, and then it started to go warm. She let out a sigh, and selfishly, the wind stole it away before it could get any further than her cracked, pale lips, but she couldn't find it in herself to care—even though she knew that she needed to get up.

She'd tried fighting, but it was getting harder and harder to open her eyes after blinking, but she could hardly do it anymore. Even her determination and inhuman will couldn't seem to fight it, until finally, slowly, almost like a caress, black bliss came over her.

—

Warmth drew across her cheek for the briefest of seconds before it became cold and numb again, and she groaned. She felt it again, and though it only lasted a second or two, it felt rather nice. It drew again, this time the bridge of her nose and right brow. Then again across her chin, lips, and bottom of her nose. The brief flashes of warmth came over her face in random order, it never lasting more than a few seconds before she became frozen again, but the more that it happened, the more her skin prickled and burned with the sensation of warmth revival.

It drew her, long suffering from the bliss of darkness and oblivion, forcing her to came back to the real, shitty world. She peeled her frozen lashes from her face as warmth panted against her skin in the brief pause before the flicker of warmth against her skin, and cracked her eyes.

She started at the red gleaming eyes that were rather close to her, set in a white snouted face. Her heart calmed, but only a fraction, as she realized that it was Ghost. He had been making her face feel weird, licking her (she shuddered, it was a fucking giant wolf after all, who had taken out several of its own kind without much trouble, not to mention two half-breeds), breathing and tasting her face while she'd lain unconscious. She’d didn’t think too deep on the fact that he was there, and how he must’ve followed her and Jon beyond the Fence, or maybe it was just a happy coincidence—that was, if he didn’t try and eat her and Jon, there wasn’t much she could do to try and stop him even if he did.

He backed off a step, but continued to stare at her intensely with his dark eyes. She blinked back at him in length, hardly able to do much else, feel much else, other that the cold and numb that had seeped through her. Her addled brain vaguely concluded that this was the itch at her back—it had been Ghost the whole time. That was definitely better than if it hand been Ygritte.

Her eyes started slipping closed again and he growled in his chest. Her eyes flickered open a brief moment, but not much else as that dark bliss was starting to come over her again, her heart going slow in her chest.

She felt Ghost's warm breath vanish from her face as he moved away, but made no move to stop him. She just wanted to sleep. But now she wished she had been paying a bit more attention as the wolf didn't abandon her after all. Pain flared up in her leg wound suddenly as Ghost drew his rasp along her painful wound, making her cry out through gritted teeth.

Her eyes snapped open. "G-Ghost!" she struggled to get at him without success and he pinned her with red-reflected eyes and barred teeth. "Okay!" she snapped. "I get the point!"

Seeming to understand her surrender, he turned to Jon and started to sniff at his infected wound. She took a shaky breath and amped herself up, forcing herself to sit up with a whimper.

She was so weak and tired, but she was a Stark and she never gave in—especially not without a fight. And if there was a time when that actually happened, it wasn't going to be now.

How she did it, she would probably forever wonder, but she managed to get her feet underneath her and stand up. She wavered on shaking legs, blown by the wind. "Now wha'?" she wondered of the beast, her thoughts as loose as the wind. She was so dizzy and light-headed and her stomach felt twisted. She just wanted to lay down forever, despite her resolve and Stark lineage.

A scoff of breath exhaled from his nose in response and he abandoned Jon to head off in the direction that she was sure she had been heading in the first place.

Even though her brain thunk it, it was a long moment before the thought actually reached her legs and shambled after the wolf as fast as she could, which wasn't very. She tried to keep her tired, and blurry eyes on him, but he was like a white shadow against a white background, and never stopped moving.

Why couldn't he be a sled dog instead of a wolf and drag Jon along instead of her, maybe she'd even take a seat and be drugged along too. That was her current dream and hope in the world, that Ghost could be the dog instead of her—not many of the other more pressing and helpful things that she could have wished for, which were numerous.

But she continued on like the dead. Not much registering that itch between her shoulder blades didn't dissipate with the appearance of Ghost—he hadn't been the one that had been tracking her all this time.

—

She didn't know how, but she finally made it to the base of the Frost Fangs. She didn't even have time to wonder if there was a river of runoff at the base like in the Beyond because Ghost only paused long enough on the snow covered rocks for her to catch up, before he transversed the rocks like he'd been there before. She knew that she wouldn't be able to climb up anywhere into the cliff, and couldn't believe that she was following a wild animal—but there wasn't much else to do with her time. So she pushed up, but needn't have worried, once she'd gotten above the small rise of rock there was a dark crevasse in the mountain wall that led right into a cave.

Ghost stayed standing at the entrance, holding her with his unwavering, dark gaze, before he, instead of going inside the crack and cave beyond that, swept back passed her and from the Frost Fangs, swallowed by the night and the snow.

Arya guessed that he felt he had done his civic duty and needn't have spent any longer with them than he had to. Though she was hoping he would stay, and act like a guard dog of sorts, she had gotten more than she could have hoped for.

She pulled Jon in through the entrance and into the cave, the loud scraping of the makeshift stretcher on the stone floor echoing even louder in the closed space. She actually cried as she dropped down painfully to her knees on the floor of the narrow cave, her tears hot against her cheeks. Exhaustion swept through her and she put out her left arm to stop herself doing a face plant.

The tears leaked to a stop and she was left panting, her eyes slowing adjusting, not to the complete darkness of the cave, but its soft blue glow—that was emitting from the blue-coloured moss that clung to the damp walls.

She looked around her in astonishment, it couldn't be. Blue glowing moss, just like the cave that her and Jon had found that saved their lives their first time round together in the Beyond. She found the flashlight still clipped to her parka and turned it on; the beam cut across the soft glow. She blinked in it and gazed around the narrow space.

This cave was not as big as the other, cozy was cutting it a little close. Though it was noticeably warmer in here, she didn't find a big, deep pool of thermal heated water, but it had to come from somewhere. Finally, she found a shallow pool against the far back wall. She leaned forward, peering closer at it. It appeared to be no bigger than a simple bathtub, and no deeper. But she could see the faint steam rising from the waters surface in the beam of the light, the faint dripping from the cave wall into the pool over the faint howl of the wind outside.

Keeping the flashlight on, she sat back on her arse and twisted round so she faced Jon. Flipping the furs up from his legs, and picked up the half-deflated water skin and pulled the stopper out with her teeth. She sniffed the contents, getting a whiff of old leather, and took a hesitant dreg from it. Cold, stale water that tasted like the snow and its leather encasement spread wetly across her tongue, wetting her parched mouth. She moaned, fighting the urge to gulp it all down, and instead took one more full swallow, swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing it down with relish. She dribbled a swallow into Jon's mouth as well before stoppering it again and returning it to the other supplies nestled between his legs.

Her eyes found his wrapped wound again, and her lips compressed into a firm line. She needed to do something about it, and her eyes turned towards the shallow pool. She knew that the water wasn't clean, but it was surely more clean than Jon's infected through-and-through arrow wound. She needed to get it as clean as she could with what she was given, and pray to the Old Gods, and hope for the best. Then she'd do the same for her own leg wound.

She stumbled up onto her feet with effort and came round to Jon's head. She gave Jon a smack on the cheek, hoping the sudden sting must rouse him from his fever, at least long enough to help her, but all that happened was his head falling to the side. She didn't waste her little remaining energy on curses. With her left hand, she grabbed a handful of his parka at his chest, and with most of the weight on her right leg, she heaved backwards—dragging him the short distance off the stretcher and to the edge of the pool. She laid him parallel to the edge and kneeled by his feet.

She stared at the waters surface for a moment in thought. She didn't want to have to stick his whole leg in the water, but she didn't see that she had another choice. Palming water onto the wound with her one hand wouldn't do much of anything. She had to tear the bandage of his leg, it was encrusted and frozen to the wound; he gave a small whimper and jolting movement in response that ended up with him sticking his arm into the pool.

She cursed in exasperation, and shoved his entire leg into the water, boot and all. He moaned, his leg floating there just under the surface. Directing the light there on her hip, she stuck her gloved hand into the water, relishing the warmth of it, and swished the water at him thigh. She could see dried blood, infection, and whatever the Wildlings had put onto the stitched wound (much like her own, but with thread and no intent on torture of any kind), float from the wound like mist in the water.

After getting it as clean as she possibly could, she dragged his leg out, then his arm, and strained to roll him away from the pool, twice so that he was on his back again. She got the fur and draped it over him and the turned back to the pool. She didn't submerge her own wound, but splashed on the water onto her leg. It stung, but she did it until her thigh was soaked, and the wound was softer and cleaner-looking than it previously was.

She stared at the surface for a moment, watching the small trills spread out from one edge to the next. The blue moss covered the entirety of the cave walls, but it seemed most concentrated above the pool of water. She could see the beads of water clinging to it, dripping all around down the wall and then into the pool. Curious, she shifted to the side with a grimace and closer to the wall, and pulling her soaked fleece glove painfully from her broken finger with her teeth.

They sight of her trigger finger in the glare of the flashlight was grotesque, the way that it was unnaturally bent, it was swollen and discoloured, it throbbed with renewed ache, and her finger nail was blacked too. She looked at it mournfully; she wondered almost absently, if they waited too long to set it, if her finger could become cripple, or maybe if she’d loose the whole thing completely. She was a born lefty, but had since learned to be work with her right had just as skilfully in all things—but Ygritte had blown her this way because she knew it would still hit hard. Ignoring her bent finger, she reached with a slightly shaking hand to the rough rock wall. Avoiding touching the blue moss, her fingertips brushed the stone and collected droplets. They were cold, so it must be what lay beneath the water that heated it.

She bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes were drawn towards the soft glow of the blue moss. She remembered asking Jon if he thought they could use it to light a fire, and him telling her that it was probably toxic and they shouldn’t touch the stuff. She didn’t even think about eating the moss, but then again, they weren’t starving like they were now.

She touched it and it was like the softest thing in the entire world, as soft as a rabbit’s ears. She picked a peace from the stone, and it came away willingly. She held it under her nose, it smelled of earth, and that was all—harmless. She must have been desperate for something as she brushed it against her dry and cracked lips, like rubbing a rose petal against them. She waited a moment, to feel numbness or the like of its toxicity, and when nothing happened, in a bout of more insanity, she ate a piece.

It tasted like dirt, and grass, and almost faintly of mushroom. It was plush against her tongue, and she salivated readily at the taste anything, anything at all in her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, her eyes closed breathlessly. She wondered if she’d just killed herself, eaten poison and left Jon here to slowly die. She didn’t immediately feel sick and about to die, in fact, she quickly took more from her hand and into her mouth. She ate it hungrily, desperately, like she’d never eaten anything as this before. It made her feel great, better than she had in a long time. She didn’t feel so exhausted, her stomach starting to fill as she pulled more of it from the rock. And she was just as sure that she didn’t feel as in agony as before. Of course, it could be her own desperation playing cruel tricks on her, but she couldn’t help but look at the beautiful, glowing moss in wonder.

If it wasn’t just all in her head, and this wasn’t the high before the poison aspect kicked-in, then this was a healing herb the likes of nothing she’d ever seen. She wondered what else it could do, as her stomach felt overloaded with the stuff, and on a whim, she pressed a pad of moss to her leg wound. She gave a yelp of surprise as she felt an instant of renewed pain flare up before it faded into something that wasn’t so much. It was slowly, but surely reduced to a dull throbbing, the likes of which was a paper cut compared to what she’d been feeling before.

"This stuff is unbelievable," she remarked quietly in the silence of the cave. Getting a light bulb moment, she grabbed a couple more handfuls of the stuff, and dragged herself over to where she’d left Jon. Maybe it could help with his fever, help with his infection.

She pressed a chunk of it to his damp forehead, bush-side down, and then pushed aside the fur that covered his leg. She pushed it to the wound on the top of his leg, and she got a bit of reaction at the flare of pain, but then his body seemed to relax a bit as some of the pain ebbed away. She pushed some onto the exit wound on the other side his leg. "That feels awesome, doesn’t it?"

She watched his face for a long moment, maybe hoping that he’d open his eyes, but she knew that it didn’t work like that. She sighed, but a inch of the weight on her shoulders lifted a fraction. She snuggled against him as best as she could under the furs with her arm and shoulder on one side and her thigh on the other. With the flashlight off once more, the soft blue glow was soothing. And soon despite her aching body, and everything else, her eyes easily fell closed. The rhythmic drip-drip driving her under, to a much needed rest.

—

Arya's heart was hammering as she was brought awake, her mind was a bit sluggish to catch up at the words spoken.

"Oh, I'm goin' t' 'ave fun with ye now." A voice purred delightfully from the narrow entrance of the cave.

But Arya got it sure enough. They still weren't safe, they never really escaped to begin with. She'd hoped that the whipping wind would have swept away their tracks through the snow, but it seemed that she and Jon were back in limbo with the Old Gods.

_-tbc-  
_ ** ********Game/of/Thrones******** ** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So, I'm sure that you'll be glad to know that the next chapter will be the Arya-Ygritte showdown, I seriously know I fucking am. After all this build-up and stalling I have no idea how it will turn out, but I guess we'll all just have to wait and see...**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Slop Duty = Can be another form of punishment for recruits, it's the even more gruelling task of cleaning the kitchen and dishes after a meal. Washing hundreds of dishes, pots, pans, silverware, and taking out the remains, and then taking the veggie peelings all the way to the Garden and Greenhouse to use as compost.
> 
> Spud Duty = As punishment, cadets are sent to the kitchens to help with the painstaking prep work for the coming meal; such as peeling and chopping all the veggies, like potatoes, yams, etc.
> 
> Blue Moss = In some of the caves in the Frost Fangs, a blue (slightly glowing) moss grows on the moist cave walls, where different types of heated pools of water lie. It appears that this moss is not toxic at all, but edible and has a type of healing prowess.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Ghost returns to Jon and Arya once more when they are in a time of need and saves their asses, again. That elk jerky really must have done something for the albino, didn't it?  
>  ~ It appears that the itch between Arya's shoulder blades wasn't just from Ghost following them, but Ygritte tracking them as well. And just when Arya believes that the two of the were safe in that cave, it appears to have trapped them with the enemy instead._


	24. Chapter 23

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 23:_ —

Arya made a bit of a show of moving from Jon and getting to her feet, though not an obvious one. She was feeling a bit better after consuming the strange blue moss on a whim, but that wasn't for Ygritte to know.

They stared across at each other through the dim glow of the moss, no sharpness to anything, just a blending of shadow.

"Ye ready t'die, girl?" Ygritte murmured.

Arya snorted at the question. "You come alone?"

Ygritte chuckled. "I'm gonna do ye in with m'own hands, don' ye worry 'bout tha'."

The Stark scoffed. "I'm not worried, but you should be."

"Mmm. I like it when they fight back."

"The whole lot of you have got to be the stupidest group I've ever met." Arya shook her head dismissively, and was about to cross her arms over her chest to complete that move, but remembered just in time about her right arm and shoulder, and instead put her hand in her torn parka pocket.

"Says ye." She said, amused. "‘Ow's yer leg... or yer arm an' shoulder... what about tha’ finger o’ yers?" Arya narrowed her eyes. "An' me? A bump on th'head, faidin' bruises... and a bitty prick on th'cheek, tha' was all ye could manage, ye wee troll."

"Do you think those stupid height jabs get to me?" the brunette wondered mildly. "I might be short, but unlike you, I'm not a Wildling Whore, am I?" she laughed; even in this dim lighting, she could see the woman's shoulders tense under all those furs.

"I'm not gonna kill ye right away," Ygritte whispered, hard. "See, what I'm gonna do is, keep ye alive long enough so ye can watch what I do t' lovely Jon 'ere. Would ye like tha'?"

"When I kill you," Arya hissed harshly, her hand clenched inside her pocket, her broken finger throbbing, "I'm gonna cut your head off and who knows what else."

"An' I'm gonna gut ye like a fish." Ygritte purred.

They squared off, Jon laying fevered and unconscious between them. Arya would have preferred to have done this when she was in a completely different state; Ygritte was hardly even a little roughed up, while herself was battered like she'd been trampled by a dog sleigh—it wasn't even close to a fair fight, but she'd never back down from it.

One of them was going to die here, Arya just hoped it wasn’t her—it was a rather big request of the Old Gods, though. Ygritte had a weapon, and Arya didn't. The weapons that she had collected from the dead Wildling were still laying on the stretcher, which was over Jon and closer to the other woman. All she had on her was the flashlight.

Plan-on-the-fly suddenly clicking into place in her brain, she braced her battered body.

"Bring it one then, bitch!" Arya growled, retracting her left hand from her pocket. "Or does the whore have to get permission from her _daddy_."

Ygritte expression contorted in the shadows and with a cry, she charged at Arya, her hatchet raised. Arya grabbed the flashlight clipped to her parka and turned it on, directly the bright beam suddenly into the Wildling's face. Blinding Ygritte for a brief moment, she tripped over Jon (who moaned at the jolt through his injured leg) as Arya dove for the stretcher, ignoring her own leg and arm.

Unfortunately, Ygritte got her feet under her before she could fully turned around, and made for the teen again while her back was still to her. Arya reached and grabbed the first thing that her hand wrapped around. Rolling onto her back through the sear in her arm, she raised her weapon to block the down-stroke of Ygritte’s hatchet. It was the spearheaded blade that was six-inches long, with a hilt that was about four.

She grunted under the force, the axe deflecting off the blade, and bit into the rock, narrowly missing Arya's shoulder. Light beam flashing around hazardly, Ygritte instantly came back with another blow. Before it could land, Arya swiped at her with the knife, and Ygritte’s swing changed direction and knocked the blade out of her hand. It skidded across the floor near Jon as she kicked at Ygritte (with her right leg), and scrambled for the man's hatchet on the stretcher. A blow to the knee diverted the Wildling's third swing, and Arya rolled in the opposite direction, clumsily get her feet under her. Gasping as she instantly swung for the woman, Ygritte dove to the ground out of its path, rolling up onto her feet in better form than the Crow trainee.

They glared at each other through the bouncing beam for a brief moment before they both charged at each other, swinging. Ygritte swung high, aiming for Arya's head. While the teen aimed for the woman's midsection. Arya was already bending her knees, even as Ygritte twisted her body to the side, attempting to avoid the hit, her swing taking a sharp downward turn at Arya.

Arya heard the tearing of fur and Ygritte grunt, even as her left leg gave out beneath her, saving her neck, but not her dislocated shoulder. It was hard to feel the new pain flare at her shoulder through the constant old pain, but it wasn't that hard as she fell to the floor. Ygritte cursed, stumbling back against the wall, grasping her side, her gloved hand bloody.

Despite her own wound, Arya got her second wind at the thought of getting a strike on the woman that she hated. She stumbled onto her feet, gasping, the wound on her already immobile limb making no difference in her performance. She was like a shark in the water, scenting the blood—and soon it was going to be feeding time. She turned around to face Ygritte, Jon groaning quietly at her side, and grinned at across at the Wildling like the very same animal. She knew exactly what that tone meant and now all she had to do was buy the time.

"Like that?" Arya muttered.

Ygritte glared at her, dropping her hand from her ribs. Through the glare of the flashlight, Arya could make out the dark matted fur, it wasn't exactly a deathly blow, but in was a hindering one, and tick on Arya's side that she could use.

"One lucky hit ain't gonna save yer life, troll." She leered, pushing herself from the wall. "I'm gonna kill ye jus' like I promised."

"Yeah, right, in you're fucking dre—!"

In a move Arya didn't expect, Ygritte sent her hatchet flying across at Arya, who was just in time to duck the weapon as it hit the wall behind her and clanged to the floor. Arya just had time to look up and do nothing else as Ygritte, in the teen's distraction, charged at her.

Arya hit the rock floor of the cave, hard. Unlike the walls and ceiling, there wasn't blue moss to cushion her impact. Lights flashed briefly behind Arya's lids as her head cracked back against the floor, leaving her dazed in her already breathless and painful state. Whatever relief that the blue moss had provided her, was vanished, and she was left on the brink of helplessness.

She blink her eyes open to find Ygritte the weight on her chest that wouldn't let her lung fully expand. She'd lost her weapon, but that didn't stop her from trying to punch the woman in the face with her left hand—what did though, was Ygritte simply grasping Arya's discoloured broken finger easily and giving it a brief squeeze (her other hand unconsciously pressed to her wounded side). Arya gasped and Ygritte sneered down at her.

"Hurt, don' it?" she said happily, squeezing the finger just a bit tighter just to watch the girl's bruised cheek twitch. "That'll be th'least of yer worries... didn' I say I was gonna make ye watch?" Arya butked beneath her in response with strength that she didn't have, which just made Ygritte laugh at her. "Ye were always weak, Stark. Pure chance is th'only thing tha' got ye ‘ere."

"And whoring round’s the only way you can get daddy's attention, isn't it? But you liked it from the start, didn't you?" Arya mocked her with a twisted smile.

Ygritte's blue eyes blazed in the light glow of the moss, the flashlight's beam blocked out behind her, and she cranked Arya’s already broken finger backwards. Arya's cry out at the shock was cut off as she continued to abuse the digit, her bloody hand coming from her side and squeezing tightly around Arya's throat with a grimace.

Arya remembered the first time that Ygritte started to choke her, her neck still tender from the assault, but it had been the most minor of the injuries that she had gotten in that clash. She struggled, though albeit weakly beneath her assailant as she was unable to drag in any oxygen anymore. Her feet scuffed at the stone floor, trying to get traction, but unsuccessfully as darkness crouched in on her vision.

Arya wasn't sure how she wasn't passed-out already. That blue moss was really something powerful, if her injuries were holding up and hadn't floored her as the last dregs of adrenaline ran through her tired blood. She was not going through the humiliation and shame of this bitch killing her.

"Rayder said t' leave ye, after I found our dead man, but I could no' have tha' could I?" Ygritte whispered, leaving close to Arya's face.

Her vision was already darkening around the edges and was making her see spots, but now she was going a bit cross-eyed. She tried to say something, but the words couldn't make it passed her throat as Ygritte locked her fingers; her nails digging into the already abused flesh.

"Don' worry none, I ain't gonna kill ye now... didn' I promise ye a show featurin' dear Jon Snow?" Ygritte released her grip slightly, and Arya gasped, coughing, finally getting the oxygen her body and brain deeply needed. "I was really hopin' tha’ 'e would let go o' 'is regard for ye an' th' bunkum Wall o’ yers, but I s'pose I got a bit carried away after livin' down in th' filth ye call yers."

Arya sneered at her as the edges of her vision cleared up and knew the time was right. Jon better get his shit together, she thought, he better be able to do this. "You were filth before you came to the Wall," she crooked through her sore throat. "And you're gonna be put down like the inbreed mongrels you are."

"Yer precious Wall is gonna fall like a avalanche under th'King-in-the-North's strength an' cunnin’—ye never stood a chance. Stark is gonna choke on 'is own blood after dealin' with th'shame o’ havin' all 'is men slaughtered like th'pigs they are!" Ygritte spat at her.

"Feel that?" Arya murmured beneath her quietly, her voice laced with delight.

"D'ye feel this?" Ygritte said over her confusion, and twisted Arya's trigger finger.

Arya gritted through the pain, but the smile that twisted her lips stayed its place, and it was driving the Wildling woman mad. If she and Jon were about to die, why was she so happy?

"I asked... D’ya feel that?" Arya said.

She had to ask. "Wha—?"

"This!" Jon shouted suddenly from next to them with a grunt as he reared up under the fur, the spearhead blade flashing dully.

Ygritte had started, a sudden cry of pain as Jon stabbed her in the side, under her ribs on her uninjured side. Her gripped loosed on Arya and the teen used the instant of distraction and tensed everything she could, yanking her broken finger from the woman's grasp, and managing in another feat, to reverse their positions.

As Ygritte found herself now being pinned she suddenly bucked under the injured, smaller teen. Arya let out an exclamation as she was nearly flung off the woman before Jon managed to scramble round her head and pin her arms and shoulders.

The beam of her flashlight now cut across Ygritte's twist face, hit Jon in the chest, and glared at the underside of his bearded chin, making his pain and beaded face look pitted.

Despite being pinned by both Arya and Jon (who, with their combined injuries probably equalled one person together), Ygritte continued to struggle beneath them. Blood and spittle spat from her lips as she gasped and grunted like an animal. The stab wound in her side was bleeding steadily, and her writhing was just hurrying her along to death’s door, but Arya wasn't going to just allow her to go like that— _she_ had to be the one to kill Ygritte, not Jon.

"Do you feel that?" Arya asked again, and Ygritte sagged beneath her suddenly, and glared a dark hatred up at her. "That's failure, is what that is. You had it in you the whole time, you just never saw it." She took the knife that had been knocked from her grip earlier and with whom Jon had stabbed the Wildling, and pressed the blade to her milky white neck.

"Kill me or not, it makes no diff'rence when all yer Crow skum will turn th'snow red!" Ygritte assured her.

Arya just shook her head with a sigh. "It was always going to end this way, you were just too stupid to see it!"

She looked Ygritte in her livid blue eyes, not looking away to even glance at Jon, and pushed the blade into her throat.

Her eyes widened slightly as it went in deep, and she bucked for a moment as blood ran from the fresh wound, and bubbled from between her lips as she chocked and drowned on her own blood. She finally stilled beneath the teen after a long minute, her eyes dead and hooded, blood still dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

Jon seemed to be frozen in place still pinning her, but when Arya pushed herself from Ygritte’s corpse and rolled over onto her back on the crumpled furs that Jon had vacated, he appeared to have snapped back into his body, and despite his leg wound, jumped back from her still bleeding body. He pressed back against the wall on the floor gasping, his widened gaze fixed upon her body.

Arya stared silently up at the ceiling scattered with lightly glowing patches of moss with hooded grey eyes. She felt a muted difference within her now. She knew she'd feel more of it later, when she wasn't so hungry, thirsty, exhausted and in pain, but it was enough for now.

Killing Ygritte had felt different than from the others that she had killed, though she didn't have much to compare it to. She hadn't felt much of anything for the others, but now she felt like a great burden had been lifted from her, like she could breathe a bit better now. She had known Ygritte for the past three-years, had hated and loathed her the second she had laid eyes on the woman and suddenly those shadows inside of her weren't as thick. She'd got what she wanted, finally after so long—she had just hoped that when it finally did happen, she'd have done it on her own.

"You okay—?" She started to ask Jon.

"Y—You killed her." He said, his breath fast.

Arya craned her neck and looked over at Jon, who still had his brown gaze fastened to Ygritte's body. "Jon—Jon!" he finally tore his away to Arya.

"She was down—we could've kept her prisoner—"

"You stabbed her, she was already dying," she pointed out firmly. "I just finished the job quicker, that's just the way it had to go. She would have done the same to us, you heard her, except it would be with more torture and glee."

"Y—You're right." He nodded, running a shaking gloved hand through his lank curls. "You're right."

"Come and lay back down, Jon." She said. "And bring some of the moss." She added as an after thought.

He looked at her dumbly. "What?"

"The glowing blue moss," she repeated. "Get some from the walls."

He still looked at her baffled, her second go at it still didn't make any sense to his dazed and dizzy mind, his body still rack with the pain from his leg, but it didn't seem as bad as he remembered.

"Just do it!" she snapped. "I'll explain once you do, now hurry up, you're not helping yourself by looking at me with that dumb look on your face."

His eyes narrowed and he frowned at her. "What about—?"

"Later," she sighed, knowing he was going to ask about her body, but neither of them had the energy or anything else to deal with it. "We need to take care of ourselves first."

Jon finally gave in, and with shaking hands, he pulled clumps of the blue moss from the damp cave wall, and then pulled himself back over next to Arya's side so that she was between him and Ygritte's body.

"Where are we?" Jon wondered, passing over the moss.

She took it gladly. "I managed to kill a Wildling who came to check on us a bit after they made camp and you passed out, got you onto the stretcher, and started to head to the Frost Fangs." Arya told him, taking a piece of the moss and popping it into her mouth. "I nearly didn't make it, but then Ghost found us and threatened to eat my face if I didn't move my ass—and lead us to this place."

"Wha—?" he started to ask about the albino, turning his head to look at her, and got just a bit distracted, "Are you eating that?!" he exclaimed. "Arya—!"

Arya swallowed and it felt like a lump going down her abused throat but she didn't care. "You better eat some, too." She told him.

He looked at her open-mouthed. "I am not—!"

To save a bit of time, she popped a piece into his mouth. It would have been comical that way he instantly froze, moving nothing at all, if she hadn't been so tired. "Eat it. It's not toxic at all, it helps, it took down your fever, didn't it?"

Slowly, wary, she chewed it like he tried to make it so that none of it touched any part of his mouth, his face drawn. He swallowed it just the same, like she told him it was a cow patty peppered with maggots.

"Still alive, right?" she murmured.

"It appears that way," he agreed quietly after a moment, though he still looked like he expected to start asphyxiating at any moment.

A brief smile flashed across her lips as she finally turned off the flashlight, leaving them in the soft blue glow of the surrounding moss clinging to the moist cave walls.

"So... the attack's already started?" he asked heavily after a moment, his voice soft next to her.

"Yeah," she sighed. "That's what it sounded like."

"Aren't we going to do something?"

She gave a humourless bark of laughter that she couldn't decide if it was worth the pain or not. "What do you expect us to do? We'd kill ourselves before we even got to the Wildling camp—they'd already be gone anyways, probably passed the Fence and in the Beyond by now."

"They won't get any further than that." Jon said firmly, confidently.

Arya looked at him. She was so glad that he was awake and had broken through the fever, but she couldn't help that bubble inside of her that felt sour once more about the fact that him and Benjen had kept her out of a very important loop. It was like they didn't trust her with the information that Ygritte was a spy, and Tanner a traitor.

Sure, she was hot-headed, but she wasn't stupid. Did they think that she would expose everything in a fit of anger? That if there was proof that Ygritte was a spy, she would see that as incentive to end the bitch's life? Because none of that was at all true, if they'd filled her in on this plan of theirs, maybe everything could of ended up different—Qhorin could still be alive; this Wildling uprising put down before they attacked the Wall; Tanner sentenced for being a traitor; and maybe even her and Jon wouldn't be in the condition that they were. If fucking only…

"Benjen tell ya that, did he?" she huffed in derision.

She could feel his cocked brow even though she wasn't looking at him, having turned to stare fixedly at the ceiling of the cave. He sucked in a breath as if making to say something, but then he just exhaled a heavy breath, changing his mind about what he had been about to say.

"I wasn't privy to all of Benjen's plans, you know? He just told me all I needed to know in order for me to play my bit in the operation—getting close with Ygritte." There was a slight inflection in his voice as he said her name, and all Arya could think was about that last part, them getting close.

How tight? she couldn't help but wonder.

"I did what I had to, Arya." He whispered so quiet that she almost missed it under the noise of their combined breathing.

She stilled at his words, she must have said that bit out loud accidentally—and got an answer that she wasn't now sure that she wanted.

To get her pissed off, Ygritte would always say that she and Jon had had sex, and Arya would always vehemently deny the comment—because Jon wouldn't, he just _wouldn't_! Had she been kidding herself this whole time?

She remembered how he would always turn his back to her when they were in the showers together, unlike all the other boys; how when they had to strip all their gear in the cave that first-year in the Beyond and he freaked out, she told him to cut the crap and it was just a body, but he'd told her firmly that he was a gentleman and not scum. She always rolled her eyes whenever he said that to her, but he was right. He was always different from all the other guy recruits/trainees at the Wall. He actually respected her, in regards to being both female and a Crow trainee like himself.

She had him up on a pedestal, and she knew it. But he was still a guy, and no one was perfect. She needed to get the knight-in-shining-armour regard towards Jon out of her head for good, she was too old for stupid notions like that. And now was a crap a time as any to clear the air.

"J-Jon?"

"Yeah?" he gasped in relief, her silence had been starting to scare him.

"Did—" Her voice caught in her sore throat, but she forced the words out anyways. "Did you have sex with Ygritte?"

She heard him inhale sharply beside her, and then not breath at all. She turned her face towards him slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye in the dim blue glow, only able to make out shadows of his expression, his face turned to hers.

"Yes." He whispered quietly, finally; she could feel the word brush her cheek in his breath.

Unbidden, tears swam in her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her?! Why did something so stupid as Jon having sex with Ygritte upset her so much? Maybe the knight-in-shinning-armour tag on him was embedded deeper inside of her than she first thought, if it hurt her this much.

"I had no other choice," he muttered, and she could feel each word brush against her cheek like a physical thing, penetrating through her, "I had refused her too many times already and she was starting to get suspicious. If she was to believe that I was willing to go with her, join the Wildlings, then I needed to convince her I was truly committed—and that meant throwing away my respect for the Wall."

The lump in Arya's throat was great.

"A-are you okay?"

"Wh... Why wouldn't I be?" she managed to choke out.

"Because I'm disgusted with myself!" He said vehemently. "I made vows with myself, to the Old Gods, that when I joined the Wall, I would never bed with a woman, I would commit myself wholly to the service, my only family would be those I trained with, men in my unit. I broke that promise to myself, I spat on it! I told myself that it was for the sake of the mission, I had no other choice, but there's a voice in the back of my head that keeps telling my if I really had to, I could have found a reason not to sleep with her and keep with the mission..." he was left breathing roughly, waiting, hoping, for her to say something, anything.

She made herself ignore the blood rushing in her ears, the painful thump of her heart in her chest, half of which was stuck in her throat. She pushed through the irrational emotions that flooded her, and made herself live through it like he was forced to.

"I..." she took a great shuddering breath. "I believe you." She whispered finally. He gasped heavily, flooded with relief at her words. "I believe you." She repeated more firmly.

His armour was tarnished, she was no saint herself, but she couldn't and didn't dare try to snuff out the belief that it would be shinning again. This was Jon, after all, and though, like everyone else, he wasn’t perfect—he was still her family, her blood brother and she loved him deeply.

-tbc- 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I finished writing the last chapter, and was in the middle of proof-reading it, that was when I had the idea to put in the Blue Moss. Seeing how it was mentioned a bunch of times throughout the trilogy, I wanted to revisit it one last time. I did my best with the fight scene between Arya and Ygritte, I don't think I’m all that good at them, but I hope it was too bad.
> 
> The Key:  
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ Arya finally is able to kill Ygritte after three-years (with the help of Jon, of course), but she got to do the finishing blow. [after all this, I really had to give Arya this bit of pleasure after all the shit she went through because of the Wildling woman].  
> ~ So, we finally find out the truth that Jon really did sleep with Ygritte —but only for the sake of the mission, though he might've fallen just a bit in love with her it appears.


	25. Chapter 24

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 24:_ —

Arya had been dreading what was to come next and that was why she tried to hold off. She convinced Jon that other things took president after he asked after her injuries and she was either too slow or too fast in her reply.

They managed to push Ygritte's lifeless body against the far side of the cave, near the entrance, leaving wide smears of dark blood on the rock from her three bloody wounds. It wasn't ideal to have her body there, haunting over them, but that was as far as they would get with their own injuries to worry about.

And then Arya had to face it—face herself. Though Jon's leg wound was rather bad, still infected, though the moss seemed to have helped, and a little feverish—hers were actually still bleeding, among other things.

They positioned themselves in front of the small pool, Jon sitting in front of her, but angled more towards her right side, either of their injured legs laid flat. He helped her strip out of her torn and dirty parka, and several of her shirts, leaving her in her sports bra.

The pain was near unbearable—she tasted copper in her mouth, clenching her teeth so hard, pained exclaims leaving her lips. Extracting her arm from her parka made her see spots, and Jon decided that it was better to just cut down the sleeves of her other thermal-wear (with the 'cleaned' spearhead knife that she had killed Ygritte with), rather than risk further injury to her already devastated shoulder and broken arm—not to mention the rather fresh dark blood that soaked the torn material at the same shoulder.

"Why didn't you speak up earlier?" He demanded quietly, worry hardening his voice.

"We had other, more pressing matters." She snapped back, her voice coloured with pain and annoyance.

He peeled away material with a sympathetic wince on his face as the material resisted. But that wasn't the only thing that appalled him, as he directed the bright beam of the flashlight on her limb. Her arm was covered in contusions, he could see the way that it lay off-angle, could even see where one end of the bone was pressed flushed against the underside of her skin—he saw the faded scar on her arm when she first broke it from her fall off the wall in Craster's Keep, and was glad that it hadn't punctured though the skin like that previous injury; it would have been just another thing that they couldn't deal with properly.

Her shoulder looked even worse, the look of it made him feel a bit sickened. It didn't even look like a proper shoulder. Her arm was disconnected from her torso, and the only thing that was keeping it there was her skin, and the extreme swelling that made it twice it original size. He had a hard time finding out what was blood, and what was bruising.

"I already know how bad it is, so could you stop looking at it like that?" She told him, pointedly not looking herself—if the pain was anything to go by, she really didn't want to make direct eye-contact with it.

"Right, right." He gave his head a little shake before looking at her injuries with a more controlled expression, his lips pursed tight amid his dark scruff. He knew that it was going to have to see to her shoulder first, setting it before either her arm or the gash on her shoulder.

"Let me cut this," he muttered, and unable to _not_ touch her, reached forwards to her right shoulder that was bare but for the tight strap of her sports bra that looked to be doing more harm than good. She grimaced at his touch, be held still as he used the hollow of her collar bone to pull the material from her swollen and discoloured skin, and then slice through the band.

Pins and needles shoot through her shoulder, seeming to reawaken the pain as the relief of the tight strap appeared to have returned circulation to her disconnected limb. Jon shifted, grimacing at his own wound as he bent both legs under him and now faced her right side directly.

"This is going to truly hurt," Jon murmured, his own heart racing at just the thought of what he was going to do, not to mention the severe pain he was going to cause her by doing it.

It was swollen, he wasn't even sure that he'd be able to get it back into the socket, but he was gonna damn well try! It had been days since its dislocation, and the ride had been rough from what he knew and Arya had told him—if he didn't get it back in, he was afraid that while she wouldn't actually lose the limb, but when they got back to the Wall and it was put back in, her mobility could be cut permanently... and then she couldn't be a soldier anymore.

Arya's breathing was rough, even though he hadn’t touch her yet. "Just do it!" she barked, and she stilled so suddenly, staring resolutely ahead, her eyes fixed on a point at the cave wall, her left hand was clenched on her thigh, so tightly that he was sure he could hear the bones grinding.

Jon braced himself at her side, his hands hovering an inch from either side of her swollen shoulder. He took a deep breath of his own, his own jaw set determinedly. He was going to have to bring pain before the healing could start. He could see the muscles jumping in her jaw as he placed his bare hands against the flesh, her breath hissing from between her teeth.

She had stayed conscious through so much, she was so strong and tough and stubborn as hell, and he just prayed that she was going to pass out. With strength, he suddenly twisted his hands. Arya's cry of pain was muffled and choked through her clenched teeth as her body jerked.

"Not yet!" he said, as he had suspected, she wasn't going to get lucky and have it go back on the first attempt, the swollen tissue was in the way. He twisted his hands sharply a second time, put more weight and strength behind the shove.

Her scream of pain was so loud in the closed off cave that it sent him flinching and his ears ringing as her bone was forced back into the inflamed socket. He grabbed hold of her as her head fell forward, her chin on her chest; and the rest of her body attempted to follow. The pain had finally, blessedly, gotten to her. He laid her back carefully onto the fur, and looked down at her dirty, brushed face, her unconscious expression lined with pain and exhaustion.

While she was out, he set about with cleaning her reopened shoulder gash. He relieved himself of one of his own thermal shirts, and set about tearing and cutting the thick material into strips. He wetted a peace in the cave's pool and cleaned the wound as best he could, before pressing a square of material against the wound in a makeshift pad. The wound needed stitching, but like many of their other injuries, it was going to have to do without. He needed to set her broken arm, which was a bit more difficult.

He needed something to brace the limb, but it wasn't like he could go out and collect branches. He had to deal with what they had in the cave, which obviously wasn't much. The only thing that he could think of, was to use the wood that made up the frame of the makeshift stretcher that he had used to drag her along and then her him in return. Even though they might need it later, he had no other choice.

He dragged himself over to it, and with the spearhead knife, cut away the worn canvas from one side of the frame. He took up the hatchet, and shoved aside his own exhaustion, and started hacking at the wood, chopping off two short lengths that he could use for Arya's arm.

His fingers barely touch her arm but Arya's flinch of pain is clear even in her unconscious state. As much as he didn't want to cause her more pain, he had no other choice. He took a hold of her wrist with one hand, and at her elbow with the other, and he pulled, shifting the bone back into proper alignment with its broken self. He ignored her whimper of pain and placed the two pieces of wood that he had chopped on either side of the broken limb laying on the cave floor, then wraps it tightly with strips of his thermal shirt. By the end of it, he only had a few pieces left.

He carefully raised her arm to under her chest, hopefully that would help decrease the strain on the limb until she woke up and he could make her a sling.

He finally shifted over to her left side and checked on the stab wound on her thigh through the torn material. He blanched at it through the glare of the flashlight—it looked worse than his own infected wound.

Arya had freed herself from the restraint by any means necessary, which in this case appeared to have been by tearing the stitch out of her flesh. Jon felt sick, spotting the wire still knotted around her left wrist. He quickly cut it off. He wasn't sure he would have been able to do that, and felt guilt that he was glad he wasn't the one that had to make the choice.

He hadn't seen who had stitched the wound in that horrid manner, but he'd caught the cruel look on the Wildling Princess' face as Tormund had ordered him to drag Arya along as she walked away from him. When he'd left the tent in the camp, running, trying to find Arya and stop her, or Ygritte to hold the Stark off, but his stupid injured leg hindered him just enough to fuck everything up…

He couldn't help but think, that maybe if he had been quicker, he could have stopped Arya so that the fight between her and Ygritte never happened and then they could have made the move together; or maybe if he had even been a bit slower than Arya would have gotten the jump on Ygritte, instead of being mowed down with a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, and stab wound—and then things could have moved forward from there.

But neither of those happened, and he realised that it was just a wasted energy to think on the what-ifs, when he should be thinking about what they were going to do in the future from this point.

They couldn't stay in this cave forever, with Ygritte's corpse decomposing across from them, surviving on this blue moss that he still didn't completely trust. For all he knew, his better health was just an illusion to the toxin of the moss, outwardly, it would make him feel better, all the while, consuming more and more, internally, it was killing him—poisoning them. Arya was eating the stuff, almost as if it were popcorn. It worried him, but she didn't seem to be bothered about it like he was.

He cleaned the ragged wound on her thigh, he could not stitch it because he had nothing to do it with and the lips of the wound was too torn and mangled to even attempt it, had he had any. He packed the wound with moss (despite himself) (and Arya had told him that she'd done the same to his wound. He was feeling better, if only a bit, so maybe he was worrying himself over nothing) and then wrapped her would with the remaining material, save two.

He used one of the remaining to deal with her discoloured black and swollen broken trigger finger, binding it tight.

He checked his own wound, cleaning it and wrapping it up again—his wasn't a pretty picture either. He turned off the flashlight, leaving the cave to its natural, blue-tinged glow (now even dimmer as the moss was slowly pulled from the walls and consumed), before he carefully laid down next to Arya to try and get some rest while she was still out.

He turned his head to the side and looked over to the far wall where Ygritte's body now lay, cast in shadow, but he could see the pale moon of her face in the glow of the blue moss that clung too the wall close to her body.

Against himself, a piece of his heart had fallen in love with the Wildling. Her beauty, her skill, her strength and devotion to her people, the conviction in her heart that swam through every action she held. And ashamed, he might have actually entertained the idea of actually going with her for real.

He could never attack his fellow Night's Watch brothers, or the Seven Kingdoms. It wasn't about helping the Wildlings with their plan to attack the Wall, no. It was how she would sometimes describe it to him, her home.

To be out there, free from the strain and the stress of the Wall, to belong to a community, to be out there in the Neutral Zone, living off the land. It was just like when he remembered talking to Arya about the adventure of it all, of being a Wildling. But then it would all fall apart; there was no solidity to it—it was a daydream.

Because the truth was, he already had all that at the Wall. He liked the life that he was living, becoming a Crow, knowing Benjen and knowing Arya, loving the two Starks as the family they were to him, blood related or not, his feelings for them didn't change. He would choose them over anyone else, over Ygrite, over himself.

His heart hammered in his chest like drum as he had watched the two fight back at the Wildling Camp. It was like a biting hammer when he watched Ygritte over power Arya and pinned her to the ground, the skinning knife in her hand, ready to kill, only to maim instead.

The lick of fear that scorched through his entire body, his soul, was the likes of nothing he had ever felt before. That fear... he never wanted to feel it again. It was nothing compared to all the times the two of them, Arya and him had trained in the Beyond and had several close calls. This one, was just too damn close.

He had come to love Arya, she was like the sister he never had but always wanted, the family he had lost but had found again, he cared for her so deeply, it was ingrained into him. Every moment he knew her, his love for her grew deeper, his trust, faith, loyalty—everything inside of him. He couldn't lose her, he wouldn't know how to go on without her in his life anymore.

He looked from Ygritte and to his partner, his real partner, from the start. He had been so close to losing Arya again at the hands of Ygritte in this very cave... if he hadn't woken up when he did... So he just intended for that not to happen—he'd defy the Old Gods if he had to.

—

Even before Arya opened her eyes, she felt the bile in the back of her throat, and resisted the urge to gag and puke. Her body ached, new pain reawakened in the old pain that she had gotten used to. She groaned, low. She remembered Jon trying to put her shoulder back in the socket, and a reactive shudder to the memory and pain of it sent more throbs through her.

He was laying beside her, and on the other side of him, against the far wall, Ygritte. She sighed, but then gave a start and she craned her neck to look over Jon, ignoring the pain that it incited—Ygritte was in fact _not_ there.

"Jon!" she cried, grabbing him with her awkwardly bound left hand.

"Wha—?" he started awake, seeing her panicked expressing, any lingering sleep vanish from his expression. "What? What's wrong?" He shoved himself upright.

"Ygritte," she gasped. "She's gone!" she struggled to sit up, but only managed it because Jon helped her do so. She didn't understand. The Wildling had been dead, she'd made sure of it, no one could survive a stab to the neck like that. Her heart was in her stomach and then it was in her throat, bouncing back between the two places, unable to make up its mind where it wanted to be.

She was still out there, she was still a threat!

Jon glanced over to where the Wildling had lain dead, where Arya had last seen her, and realized the reason for the panick and confusion. He tried to lay down next to Arya and get some rest himself, but being stuck in this cave between two different women which he loved both differently, one living, one not—he couldn't find such peace. Ygritte, just hardly six feet away from him, there but not any longer.

"Arya—" he tried to reassure the other Crow trainee, but he was stopped when Arya's torso jerked around to the left and she retched, sick.

Jon reached for her, her shoulders heaving with her gasping and erratic breaths. Jon grimaced as he glanced at the pile of sick and could still see bits of glowing blue moss amid the stomach acid, and the bit of water that filled her stomach; it held a gross aroma of earthy-sick.

He focused on her instead.

"Ygritte's not here because of moved her from the cave!" he told her quickly.

She slowly raised her head and looked at him. It seemed like every last drop of blood had drained from her face, leaving her so pale, it was almost like there was a moon inside the cave. "I... I thought that... that she was..."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I just couldn’t stand it with her there any longer so while you were out, I managed to get her through the mouth of the cave. But that was as far I got before my leg couldn’t take it anymore."

Arya took a deep and shuddering breath, her injuries’ pain reawakened once more as she wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand, careful to avoid contact with her broken finger that Jon had set as best he could while she was out, along with all her other injuries as well.

Maybe it was now hitting her harder than she'd first believed. It wasn't Ygritte's death that distressed her so, but Ygritte's life. Arya'd always known it, that under all that hatred she had for the former Wildling princess, was fear. Fear of her stealing away Jon, of the control that she seemed to hold over him. Fear of her skill and cleverness.

And that fear that had ripped through her when she thought that Ygritte had somehow survived, had somehow come back from the dead, was one of the strongest she had felt through this cursed watch. It was a fear that sadly was not as unfamiliar as it used to be before all this mayhem started to happen.

"You could have said something," she told him.

"You were unconscious," he pointed out after a moment. She glared at him and he ignored it. "Let me fix this."

"Then tell me a bit faster next time at least."

She let him move her injured and splinted arm across her chest, her hand angled to her opposite shoulder, biting her cheek for the pain, and he secured it there in a makeshift sling—she wasn't going to admit how much better it actually felt when the pain had a minute to die down to its original setting.

"If there is ever such a time, I will."

"Smartass."

A brief smile tugged at the corner of his lip in response before it fell away.

Her exhaustion hit her like a physical wall, and she lowered herself back onto the fur, ignoring her own sick so very close by. There were worse things than vomit in the world. "We need to get out of here, soon." She muttered.

After a moment, Jon took his place next to her on the fur again with a loaded breath. "A few days," he agreed, "we need to rest for a bit at least if we plan on making it to the Beyond."

—

So they healed as best they could for the next three days in the cave that grew dimmer and dimmer as all they had to survive on was the glowing blue moss that had carpeted the walls (the only untouched source left was on the ceiling), and the stale water (which was empty by the time they were ready to leave) from the skin that Arya had taken from the Wildling she had killed so she and Jon could escape to the Frost Fangs. Time passed slowly, all their talk (when there was any) was speculation on the battle between the Wall and the Wildlings.

Arya felt a guilt laden sense of satisfaction at the fact that Jon was in the dark on this as much as she was. She knew it was childish and petty and a useless feeling, but she didn't think that she would ever get over that him, Benjen, and Qhorin didn't think that it was necessary to involve her in this operation that she had been clearly thrown into the middle of.

On the morning that they were finally going to leave the cave, Arya was both eager and nervous.

Her broken arm was still in the makeshift sling that Jon had made and tucked into the body of her parka. They used the material that made the bed of the stretcher into a bag of sorts, which Jon put their meagre supplies (the weapons that they didn't take for themselves) into and would carry himself. And she used a bit of wood for it as a walking stick to help her along, she was by far more injured than the Snow.

The instant they stepped out from the narrow entrance into the cave, blinking into the bright rising sun, and the brash howling winds and freezing air that stung their lungs—Arya wanted to stay at the cave for that reason alone—but knew it was just a passing thought. They had things to do, places to be.

Ygritte's body was where Jon had dragged it out of the cave and left it days earlier, albeit covered in hoarfrost and turned on her front. Neither Crow trainee said a word on the matter—the Wildling princess was now an old and haggard chapter in their lives.

They came down the short decline in the rocks and touched down into the packed, Neutral Zone tundra.

Their steps in the snow were as uneven as the other's, both with the same leg injured, both limping from said injury. They kept the Frost Fangs to their right, keeping it at a distance of fifty-feet.

Their progress was slow and they took many rest breaks, despite the fact that their fellow soldiers could be dying at this very moment, despite the fact that the Beyond could have been breached, and the Wall under was siege. If they were too exhausted and encountered a Wildling(s) and couldn't defend themselves properly (despite their injuries), what was the point of venturing from the cave anyways?

It was several hours later when they finally started to see the signs of the Wildlings camp. Now they did stick closer to the base of the mountains, because though it was afternoon, and the sun was overhead, this provided better cover than if they were to walk through the middle of the camp.

They didn't see a soul. In fact, the camp appeared to be abandoned. Fire pits burnt out and cold, tents collapsed and half buried in snow drifts, even some supply sleds' contents scattered. They altered their path alongside the Frost Fang’s base and started to wind their way through the deserted Wildlings former command in preparation for the attack on the Wall.

It had been four nights that the pair had been cut off from the outside world, stuck in that cave while a war was waged. As they drew further southward and towards the Beyond, they found half-buried Wildling corpses with what appeared to be bullet holes.

Finally they could see the Fence in the distance and their hope heightened; they were halfway to the Wall. Arya followed behind Jon. In their current condition, if they kept at an even pace, they could make it back to the Wall within four days—weather and luck permitted.

She felt a shiver go through her, pain flaring in her shoulder suddenly that she had to stop, confused. Her eyes darted furtively around, trying to see what was amiss, what could have caused such an alertness inside of her. There was nothing that seemed off with the already placed eeriness of the abandoned camp—but she couldn't just ignore this sensation.

She opened her mouth, intending to call Jon to a stop (her halt going unnoticed by him, he was almost thirty-feet ahead of her already)—but something drove herself instinctively to the side in a dodge.

Her roll in the snow was halted by her own injuries and made her more vulnerable as she struggled to get back to her feet and face whatever it was that had made her react so. "Jon!" she cried.

"Arya!" he'd spun around at her cry and saw Arya on the ground struggling to right herself and an off-looking tall Wildling man advancing on her, but whose attention was suddenly drawn to himself.

"Get away from her!" he shouted, adrenaline shooting through his veins, veiling the pain in his leg and enabling him to charge at his opponent without its hindrance, his hatched raised.

The Wildling met him halfway in an almost eager, slanting gait, wicked-looking twin knives palmed in either of his fleece-gloved hands. Something didn't seem right about this Wildling, the way he moved, pieces of his attire, his weapons, and it wasn't until five feet before their point of contact that he realized that this wasn't a Wildling at all.

"Tanner!" he exclaimed and the pitless dark eyes a slash-like mouth crinkled with intent as he was recognized. Arya was startled into stillness; Tanner?!

She was forced to watch as Jon and Tanner collided.

Even if Jon had wanted to, he wouldn't have pulled back. Tanner was the enemy, a traitor. He wasn't going to spare that man's life if it cost him his own. He wouldn't forfeit Arya's in the process.

Tanner blocked the sharp, flattened head of his axe with both daggers. They locked, both straining against the other, eyes locked over the crossed blades.

Jon had never really come into personal contact with Tanner; he'd only heard the rumours through the grapevine, and of course, what Arya had told him. He'd certainly never fought against him. He didn't plan on dying, not after everything, least of all to scum like this man. He wasn't stupid, he knew what kind of man he was—the Skull King, the assassin. But none of these things would stop him from trying.

Jon wasn't sure if he could keep this constant pressure to keep Tanner at bay on for much longer. He was going to have to make a move before the other man did. Tanner must have read that thought in his eyes, because Jon was just able to shift his injured leg just enough that Tanner's boot strike clipped the inside of his thigh instead of the injury itself.

Jon grunted, but kept his stance. The three blades ground at each other as Tanner pushed harder against his two-handed grip on the hatchet, though Jon's weapon had the upper ground, it didn't seem to give him much of an advantage. Tanner pulled his blades up suddenly, unlocking the stalemate, getting Jon unprepared. His hatched struck down with all his strength built up behind it, suddenly released.

Jon had just a brief second to think that his hatched blade had caught Tanner in the thigh, but the man's expression didn't even twitch before a blur came at his face.

Tanner struck Jon straight across the face with his elbow, unobstructed, knocking the younger to the ground and senseless. The Blood Crow loomed over the trainee, a twist to his thin lip as he hawked on the defenceless body, flipping the dagger in his hand so that it faced skyward, and tucked the other away. He started to bend—

"NO!" Arya screamed at him. "Bastard!" She would not allow him to kill Jon! She just wouldn't.

He straightened up and looked over his shoulder at her, expressionless but for the quark at the corner of his lips; almost like he'd forgotten she was there. He turned his back to Jon, his face covered in blood from his broken nose, and started a slow walk towards her.

Arya managed to get onto her knees, and that was all, by the time that Tanner made the short distance to where he had left her. She grabbed the spearhead-knife in the holster on her snow pants, but with a boot on her chest, he shoved her roughly back into the snow. Arya bit back the pain, and couldn't do much as he planted a knee on her chest and stayed there—effectively pinning her.

She stared up at the shadowed, skull-like face of her mentor with dark eyes like black holes that threatened to suck her soul in to encage it forever in torment and humiliation.

"Well, cunt." Tanner murmured as he wrapped a bare hand around her already bruised throat, the point of his dagger pressed right under her eye. "A Stark-bitch, through and through I see." Arya made sure to keep completely still, despite the pain that hummed through her body, despite that flicker of fear that she would never show this man, her mentor. "You could of had it all, the freedom, the power—if you stuck with me. Now... all you'll get is a cruel death. You—and the bastard." He smirked.

"Get away from her!" Jon snarled at the man's back. Seeming to have regained his senses, he picked himself and his dropped weapon up, and was nearly upon his opponent. "We aren't finished yet."

A cruel smiled split Tanner's lips at the challenge (his hand tightening excitedly around her throat), and after all these years, this was the first time that Arya was sure she'd ever seen the man's teeth. She shivered involuntary at the sight. She wasn't sure what she expected (it wasn't like she really thought on it), but they were normal, relatively straight and white.

When he took the knife away, he made sure to knick the thin flesh under her eye, making the girl flinch minutely as a fresh and continuous trail of blood trailed leisurely down the side of her bruised face. "Don't go anywhere," he whispered, pushing up to his feet in what might have appeared like a smooth motion, but Arya had seen the well-hidden hitch. Tanner was injured (maybe from previous encounters; whether with the Night's Watch or Wildlings was uncertain—or it was most like from Jon's strike actually hitting the man in the thigh), and the act of concealment did not make it disappear, merely was an act of denial—something Arya had become an expert in since going the Wall and gaining her various ailments.

"Well, then. Come on, Snow—show me how much Qhorin failed you as a teacher, as a man!" Tanner cooed, his voice low, but carrying like it always did, the wind not daring to try and snatch it away.

Jon's bloodied jaw clenched in response, and his hand briefly tightened on the hatchet's wooden handle. "Qhorin was a good man and you killed him!"

"That's right. Hardly put up a fight either. Just another old man playing a soldier, just like _Lord Commander Stark._ What a fool. Who is he kidding to think he can stop the Wildlings? Who are you kidding, kid, to think a dim bastard like you can best the Skull King?"

"Mark my words," Jon said with severity, "I am going to kill you."

"Halfhand wasn't a real man, and neither are you, Snow." Tanner gave Jon a shark grin, even more ugly than the one that Arya had given Ygritte shortly before she killed the other woman, and this time, was the one that started for the Crow trainee.

Jon was fuelled be anger, vengeance, and the need to survive—if not for himself, than his partner—parried the strike of Tanner's dagger. He jumped back as he saw the second dagger flash out of concealment. He was wishing that he had a second weapon as he try to deal with flashing daggers, forcing his left leg to take sudden weight, bend, and twist and push-off; or that he had the spearhead-knife rather than this hatchet that was harder to work with in close-combat—when he lost his grip on the hatchet as Tanner's dagger cut across that back of his hand.

The Lt.'s eyes flashed with glee, about to gut the Crow trainee when suddenly Tanner stumbled and cursed violently, looking over his shoulder.

Jon stared open-mouthed at the spearhead dagger that was sticking out of the furs at the back of Tanner's shoulder. He had been seconds from death—Arya must've thrown the dagger and saved his life.

"Don't just stand there!" Arya shrieked at Jon. Her voice jarred both men back into action.

"I'll kill you for that, bitch!" Tanner hissed back at her, ignoring Jon completely and heading back towards Arya with a visible fury. Without thinking, Jon tackled him to the snow—by the time that he would have reached his hatchet out of sight in the snow, it would have been too late.

Tanner went down, the spearhead dagger still in his shoulder, losing his own with the fall. He bucked angrily trying to get the younger man off his him, but Jon held fast, but Tanner managed to shake the man off a moment later, twisting around with striking fists—Jon amply retaliating.

Not thinking much herself, Arya dove into the two-man melee. It was a flurry of thrown-up snow, and dark striking limbs. Tanner's stolen furs near the same shade as Jon's battered and soiled parka. She wasn't sure if she was helping Jon, or hindering him—one thing for sure was that she was hurting herself. She was thrown from the fray before she could find out the answer. Pain blared in her injured shoulder and arm and she bit her tongue as she cried out, it was all she could do to fight the inconvenient darkness that wanted to swallow her.

She was helpless once more to do not but watch as Jon fought Tanner.

Arya had fought Tanner before, and had lost every single time, easily it appeared, and that was when it was just training, the man not even trying—this, here, now—was the real thing. One man would live and the other wouldn't. She prayed silently, pleading, begging the Old Gods to let Jon live, for him to somehow best Tanner and come out on top despite his injuries.

And then suddenly, they stopped. Two still and dark shapes on the ground. She couldn't tell which was Jon and which was Tanner. Her heart dropped into her stomach like a stone, a wordless cry leaving her lips. She didn't even remember struggling and stumbling over to them, just that she was there now.

She didn't even think what would happen if Jon was dead and Tanner was not, didn't even think of grabbing something to defend herself with if that was the case. She just had to get to Jon. He needed to be alive, he couldn't be dead. Not Jon. Not...

She reached out for the body on top, the sun low and dim in the sky. It didn't move. She felt little relief at realizing that it was Tanner. She shoved him off, tears in her eyes, with her good arm. He rolled over onto his back, his eyes hooded and dead, staring, a streak of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, she could see the hilt of his own dagger protruding from the folds of the fur at his torso.

Killed by his own weapon.

"Jon?" her voice broke as she looked down her friend and partner. She griped his shoulder tightly through his parka, tears dribbling from her eyes when he gave no response.

Sniffing roughly, she turned on the flashlight with its cracked lens and dull beam, and directed it at Jon, scouring him for the resulting injuries from his fight with Tanner. It took her a long moment to find and distinguish the spread of the fresh blood at his stomach among the old.

A sob broke from her throat as she quickly pressed her left hand against the tear in the material. "Jon!" she gasped in relief when her ministrations forced a breathless whimper from his throat. "I knew—!"

She had enough warning, and her body instinctively dropped backwards to dodge the blade, her arm coming up from Jon's wound—but her body just was too battered to comply properly. She yapped a cry of pain as Tanner's dagger sliced through her sleeve and along the length of her forearm in a curve. It continued downward and to the side, tearing through her parka and grazing the side of her ribs.

Tanner hung over Jon's limp body on his side, in her lap. He drew back the dagger for another stab, and this time there was no dodging it with him pinning her legs and her back in the snow—so she did the only thing she could do, the pain in her assaulted arm a lava numb at the moment, and reached for the dagger still planted firmly in Tanner's sternum.

She grabbed the hilt with numb digits and broken index, and instead of pulling the knife out she jerked it towards herself. The tip pressed against her parka, but the waning strength behind it suddenly vanished as a haunting sound left Tanner in a gurgling, crackling, spilling noise and then he was dead weight on both her and Jon as she felt the warmth of his heavy blood cover her and the weight of his insides in her lap.

She was numb and shaking and pain-ridden and sick, trembling and weak as she struggling it get Tanner's eviscerated corpse off of them.

She struggling to pull herself length-wise alongside Jon, crying exhaustively, positioning herself in a uncomfortable way that hurt like fuck and aggravated her other injuries, but resulting in both putting pressure on Jon's wound and the free-flowing cut the length of her forearm. Without seeing it, she was sure that it didn't hit anything important, but if the flow of the blood wasn't staunched, the blood loss would still kill her as much as his own would kill Jon.

She pressed her cheek against Jon shoulder—not able to tell if it was her that was shivering and shaking or if it was him as the cold creeped in, unable to tell if she could hear his wheezy breathing or if she was just imaging it.

She hadn't checked Tanner. She should have. It was stupid of her. It was going to cost her... Neither of them would be able to continue on, both were going to die right here in the Neutral Zone, so close to the Wall, so close and yet farther than ever before.

She wondered vaguely about Benjen... about Gendry... how the two were fairing... if they were even alive right now as her thoughts blacked out and she joined Jon in the oblivion.

-tbc- 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, because Arya is unconscious, most of this chapter is done on Jon, so you can get a look into his feeling and the information that he has. I had a hard time writing them out of the cave, and how I was going to play things once they were.
> 
> The Key:  
> Stark Notes:
> 
> ~ After allowing themselves a few days to recover after their encounter with Ygritte in the cave, and any amount of shit beforehand, Jon and Arya finally leave to cave and re-enter the 'real world' and see what fait has befallen the Wall from the Wildling attack—but not before a encounter with Arya's turn cloak mentor, Tanner—one that has grave consequences


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is finally the last chapter of this fic, in my The Wall (Military) Academy Trilogy. I had such a blockage for it even as I had a vague idea of how I wanted to end it, it just didn't want to seem to come out. I had many a frustrated nights with it, just staring at the screen and getting nothing more than a short paragraph or two out by the skin of my teeth it felt. But at last, it is finished. So read it—because I am seriously weeping right now... in relief. :)
> 
> The Ages are listed as the following:  
> Robb - 22  
> Sansa - 20  
> Arya - 19  
> Bran - 17  
> Rickon - 15  
> -  
> Jon - 21  
> -  
> Gendry - 21  
> Ygritte - 22  
> Tanner - 28  
> Talisa - 24

**The Wall Academy:**   
**Elite Military Training Depot**   
**(White Walkers, Wildlings, & Wights)**

_Chapter 25/ Epilogue:_ —

Arya felt like she was floating.

She’d felt this way before, she knew, but at the moment she couldn't remember when it was. But she was floating, and it felt nice in a disembodied sort of way. She could move her head, but she couldn't seem to do the same with her body as she continued to drift. She was sure that she was floating on her back, but there was nothing around her that indicated whether that was the truth or not.

Hello?

She was sure she called out, she felt her lips move, but she didn't hear her voice. She didn't even realize that she, in fact, couldn't hear anything at all. She was sure she was breathing, but she couldn't hear it and it didn't feel like she was suffocating either, so she must of been. She was sure that her heart was beating, thumping against the inside of her rib cage, though she couldn't seem to feel it. She was sure that she could see, but it was just blackness around her.

She didn't find herself worried on the matter, though. She felt weightless, drifting—like through water. That was what it felt like. Gliding along the surface as a gentle current eddied around her body, carrying her, guiding her—seemingly aimless, but with direction all the same.

Huh.

She drifted for what she was sure was a long time, but felt like no time at all. She felt free, boundless. She tried to remember when she'd ever felt like that in her life, but didn't much feel like going through the act. Was it all that important that she did?

Yes.

But must I really?

Yes.

She didn't much want to. What she really wanted to do, was just float, drift, coast on endlessly. Light like a feather…

You're a Stark. Starks battle against the tide, they don't lay down into it!

A Stark. Was that what she was? A drifting, floating Stark. She was sure she felt something bubble in her throat for a moment at the thought, but then it went away. Along with any thoughts that she was having as she let herself sink back into the unburdened water. Her eyes slipped closed, or at least she felt like they did.

Remember.

Is it really that important?

Do you want to drift on in the Oblivion forever?

Is that what this was? Oblivion? It felt kind of nice. Free. Something tickled at her mind. Free. She felt it ghost across her. Through her _long_ locks of hair, picking it up. She felt its caress against her cheeks, her neck, her arms, her legs. Warmth shone down on her in jagged patches. She heard the _ssshhhh_ around her, brushing through around her, like a music only she could understand. It was rough and old and steady against her feet.

She opened her eyes and she could see it, like a mirage, a picture against the still surface of a pond. The clear blue was like a ocean above her. The warm yellow circle like a spotlight on the world. Green surrounded her on all sides, fluttering, waving at her, like a secure blanket. Brown, a firm hold on reality. The Sky. The Sun. The Leaves. The Bark that connected her to The Ground, The Earth.

Reality.

Arya felt free, unburdened, unbothered.   
Like she could fly or float like a cloud or fall like a leaf guided by the breeze.   
Anger and frustration left her like a hat swept away in a light gale.   
She was left feeling blithe and sunny—for as long as she could be up here, it would be always.   
She could feel the wind brush against her skin, just as it stroked against the surface of every leaf in the grand oak tree that lived in their brownstone's backyard in Winterfell.   
She could feel the rough bark scratch against the soles of her bare feet, curled around the top of the branch holding her aloft.  
She grinned, looking about through the fluttering leaves at the world around her.

That's it.

There, she felt free. So, high, above it all. Untouchable. Unreachable. Her exhaustion, fear, frustration, worry marked by brief bouts of happiness that made it all worth it. Here, it was the same, but it wasn't quiet as right, as fitting. She was unburdened, tranquil, loose. There was nothing.

I... I don't belong here... I belong there.

She felt something drip. Heard it. It hit the surface of the water that sent out ripples across the surface, ringing into her. The surface wasn't as smooth, as clear. More drips as other things started to assault her. Red. Never ending Red. Trails of blood, flooding her path, coating her soul. Blue. Glowing Blue. Stalking her. White. The never ending snow. But then there was Snow. Family. Friendship. Partnership. Jon. Jon. Jon.

Jon!

She was pulled beneath the churning water violently. She struggled, uselessly. It burned down her throat as she attempted to scream. Her heart raced violently in her chest, harder and harder, feeling about to explode. It dragged her, down and down, a trail of her screams trapped forever in bubble left in her wake. She thunked down to the bottom, everything stilled instantly. Everything flashed—white. Blinding. All shadow, all dark,—Oblivion, vanished.

The pain crept up on her presently. Burning, throbbing, aching, prickling, sharp. Her head, thigh, finger, arm, shoulder x2, other arm, neck, face, ribs. It might as well have been her whole body for as far as she was concerned. She remembered how she'd gotten each one, and by whom. Wildling, Ygritte, Ygritte, Ygritte, Ygritte, Ygritte x2, Tanner, Ygritte and Tanner, Ygritte and Tanner, Tanner; and throw some White Walker-Wildling half-breeds in there for good measured and she was sure that about covered it.

It took a long time for her to even manage to crack her eyes open, and more than that for her vision to clear long enough for her to stare out through her crusted lashes. Her vision was limited to the sole movement of her eyes. She wasn't out in the cold anymore, that was for sure. She was sure that she'd never been to this place, wherever she was being held, but it seemed familiar to her in a vague, repetitive sort of way.

She remembered Jon again and knew that she had to move, had to—before he, he... but her battered body wouldn't listening to the slurred commands of her exhausted mind. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trailed down the side of her face and into the shell of her ear. If she was here, wherever that might be, then Jon had to be there, too.

She didn't know how long she wavered in and out of Oblivion. She'd always nearly make it, and then she'd see a mirage of Jon and she'd be pulled back. She was subconsciously aware of people filtering in and out. Were they enemies? Were they her allies?

By the time she managed to open her eyes, they'd be gone.

The days, nights, time; it all blended together. Her time in the Neutral Zone continued in a white tundra soaking in blood. Did the Wildlings have her? She didn't think that to be the case. From the snatches of the room she was able to get, it was a building and not a tent. Why would the Wildlings waste all their time trying to keep her alive in the first place, if that were in fact the case? It simply didn't make sense for it to be them, and so she was sure it was the Wall.

She wanted so much to go back to the Oblivion. It was so safe, unburdensome, it... wasn't real. This was real. This pain. This exhaustion. This fear. It was real, it happened—was happening. As much as the thought might have enticed her, it wasn't her place—not yet at least. Here, now... this was her time, her place.

So who did she have to disembowel to find out what the fuck was going on?

….

When she finally managed to keep her eyes open for more than a minute, it was to find a woman that she didn't recognize doing something beside her that was just out of sight. The only thing that stopped Arya from going to the attack/defensive mode, was that she recognized the Wall medical uniform.

 _Hey._ Or, at least, that was what she had planed on saying, instead, what came out sounded like an old wooden bench creaking under the weight of a fat person. It startled the woman enough to make her jump and nearly knock over the stand at the head of Arya's bed.

"Oh my!" she looked at Arya in surprise. Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming.

Arya attempted to speak again, but her throat was like a desert without any rain, and a wheeze was all that came out. It seemed to kick the woman back to mobility, though. She was talking suddenly in a rush and then rushed from the room, though the teen got the gist that she was going to get somebody.

This was good. One question solved; she'd somehow been found by the Wall and was presumably in the medical building in the New Gift. But that was just one in a long line of others.

Arya wasn't sure if she'd actually dozed or not, but it seemed one minute the unknown nurse was there, and the next she was staring up at the man that she had been worrying about the condition of for so long that it had overridden the anger, frustration and confusion that she had felt in the beginning.

He looked exhausted on his feet. His dark beard had thickened and she saw small streaks of grey. His eyes were bloodshot and his eyes bruised. His loose hair look unkempt, like he had been continually carding his finger through it. His cheeks looked a little hollow like he hadn't been eating either, and his skin looked pallid. He had cuts scattered on his face; his lip, nose bridge, left temple, and cheek; all highlighted with coloured bruising. His black Crow's uniform was wrinkled and worn from several days of continues wear.

She opened her mouth in relief, but it was a bad as with the nurse; and just like with the nurse, it seemed to startled the man into action. He turned from her and to the table at the head, and poured some water into a plastic cup with a straw.

He put the straw to her crack lips and she drank it eagerly, her neck straining. It was lukewarm, but better than the stale, metal tasting water from the skin that her and Jon had to live off of in the cave.

"Easy, easy." He murmured, and took the straw again before she made herself sick.

She laid her head back on the pillow, catching her breath. She looked up at the man, "Uncle..."

"Thank the Gods, Arya!" Benjen breathed in such a relief at seeing her grey eyes that were the same shade as his big brother's, that his knees seemed to have almost given out on him. He gripped the railing of Arya's bed tightly, both to help support him, and to make sure that this was actually real. If Arya hadn't made it, Ned would never forgive him, just like he wouldn't ever forgive himself for getting his niece killed.

He grabbed a nearby rolling stool and sat down on it heavily, and not too soon, either. He looked at her, refusing to look away in case her eyes were closed again when he did, as if his stare would keep them open, keep her alive. "I am so glad to see you awake. When the—"

"Where's Jon?" she interrupted the man. That was the most important question that she needed answered right now, nothing else mattered.

Benjen gave her a soft and sad smile, and Arya's heart stopped. No! He was going to tell her that Jon was dead, she just knew it. She wanted to take back her question, wished she'd never have asked it. If she never asked it, then Jon could still be alive to her, if only for a little while.

"It's a miracle," Benjen told her and disbelief filled her, how could— "When we were out in the Neutral Zone where the Wildlings had their command camp just beyond the Fence, collecting the dead, and a Hawk found the two of you with Tanner covered in frozen blood with your skin blue..." he shook his head, and she could see the grief lined in his face still from that moment however long ago.

"Are you—Are you saying that Jon's alive?" she asked desperately.

Benjen gave her a brief happy but burdened look and pushed himself on the stool to the side, looking over behind him. Arya craned her neck and followed her Uncle's indication. Right there, all this time, not by ten-feet separating them, was Jon in a second gurney in the room.

She couldn't get her full sight on him from where she lay, but his profile was enough for now. He lay under the blanket, unmoving.

She wasn't going to think about how it brought memories of Bran from three-and-a-half-years ago into her mind. Because though his skin was as pale as his last name, his black hair a stark contrast against it, IV's adorning his arms, a tube down his throat that helped him breathe—he was there, with her— **alive**.

A sob of relief and weight tore from her throat unbidden, her head laying back heavily against her pillow. A weight pressing on her chest seemed to lighten at the mere sight of him. "He's... he's—"

"His condition is critical, but he's stable." Benjen quickly assured her.

"— _alive_!" tears rolled down her face, openly crying.

Benjen gave the frostbitten healing fingers of her right hand that poked out of the cast a gentle squeeze. "You're exhausted. You need rest. I'll come back—"

"No!" Arya barked at him suddenly, stopping his movement. He looked at her and she looked back, a hard expression in her grey eyes, the tears halting instantly. "You're not leaving and I'm not sleeping until you tell me every single last bit of this fucked-up month."

Benjen sighed after a long moment of intense silence stretched between the two Starks and for a second Arya thought that he was going to refuse her, but then he sat back into the stool and gave a nod. "After everything, it's the least you deserve."

She pushed back the exhausted relief that the sight of Jon safe beside her had brought about, and paid the strictest attention to her Uncle. She was finally going to get the truth, the whole lot of it.

Benjen started, "For years we knew that something like this was going to happen, that the Wildlings were gearing up for an attack. Ygritte—" Arya felt an invisible shudder go through her at the Wildling woman's name "—requesting to join the Wall was their first true move, the first indication that this attack that had for so long just been a speculation, was finally set into motion. So for that last three-years, in a covert operation, we sent spies of our own. But the information that we gathered was minimal; the men I sent out either returned with no news or they didn't return at all.

"When the attack finally happened, it was sabotaged from within the Wall. Tanner hadn't been working alone like Qhorin and I had originally believed, but he'd turned my own men!" Anger flared in his eyes and his fist clenched before he calmed himself down. "Chett and Thorne—who you know—were amongst them."

If she thought about it, she didn't seem to find it that hard to believe that those two douche bags would be traitors. "Did you apprehend them?" she asked, but what she really wanted to say: did you kill them?

He shook his head but that air of betrayal was still with him. His own men… "When we attempted to arrest them, they fought and tried to escape and were killed."

She hoped they had died slow and painful deaths; that would have been more than they deserved.

He continued after a moment, giving her a long look and she was sure that she wasn't going to like hearing about this next part. "Jon needed to be read-in because Ygritte was his 'partner'. It was his job to connect with her, pretend to be turned and join the Wildlings to both gather information on their plans—if he was able—and when the time came, attack the camp from within."

She forced herself not to show an outwardly reaction to this, despite the fact that Jon had told her as much while they were hiding out in the cave in the Neutral Zone, but it was still a sore subject, even after she'd accepted that Jon had to do what he had to do to keep the ruse up with the Wilding(s).

"When you and Jon were out on watch duty, and those half-breeds attacked during that storm, we knew that another, bigger attack was going to come. So I sent out some Hawks for recon and they came back with news that all the clans were amassing just beyond the Fence around the Frost Fangs. Of course, Ygritte had been found out by this point, and after a struggle, we apprehended her. I sent out Qhorin and Tanner with her to the pair of you to see if you could meet up with Mance Rayder and we could halt this war before it reached the point of no return… Do you want to fill in that bit of the gap?"

Arya let out a heavy breath. She supposed there had to be a bit of a give-and-take, but she wished that Jon was awake to help her out a bit. _Just get it over with, don’t think on it too hard._

"After Tanner and the other's arrived, it was agreed that we would go into the Neutral Zone, discover Rayder's location and use Ygritte to negotiate a surrender—but we were ambushed by a Wildling hunting party (at least, that was what Ygritte claimed). Jon and I were separated from Qhorin and Tanner with Ygritte. Jon was hit but I managed to get us out of there and we holed up in a ice cave of sorts. We stayed for a couple of days, then decided that we needed to move on—which was a big mistake. We didn't get very far before we were attacked by another group of Wildlings at our temporary camp. Ygritte knocked me unconscious and when next I woke up, I was alone, bound to a stake in the ground in a tent. After a bit, they moved me to where they were keeping Jon.

"He was already pretty bad off from the arrow wound, and I managed to get us free from the restraints with a hidden blade I had concealed in the heel of my boot—"

"That's not regulation," Benjen noted, having kept silence from the beginning since she started, listening closely, but he looked impressed.

Arya shrugged, or at least she attempted to. "Tanner might have been a traitor, but he knew his stuff."

Benjen couldn't deny that; Tanner was one of the best killers that he'd ever come across. He was cunning, adaptable, and very skilled. These were some of the reasons why he'd put Arya under his tutelage (before he realized that Tanner was indeed a traitor). He could see the potential that she held ever since she was a kid. She was smart, tough, strong-willed, had a good pain threshold, and though she had a temper at times, she had a keen skill of masking herself when she wanted to, and was deeply loyal.

She went on when he commented nothing further, "We figured that our best option at that point, was to try and take out Rayder because getting out of there and back to the Wall would be impossible for us then. We made it to his tent, and managed to get inside—only to run into Tanner. It was pretty obvious from there that Tanner was a traitor—but there I was, thinking that it was some sort of play that you, Tanner and Qhorin cooked up—" She remarked. "Not that I was told anything about it." She said pointedly. His expression didn't changed at the pointed jab so she went on, "But then Rayder tells us it was Tanner that killed Qhorin."

A sadness flickered through his eyes at the confirmation of his friend and second's death.

She cleared her throat and he helped her drink from the cup a second time. She licked her dry lips and continued, "And the reason that we weren't quite dead yet at that point, was because Mance was in the belief that he had us turned. Jon, because of the plan that you had with him—which I knew nothing about at the time—and me because I was Tanner's trained dog!" she spat, offended all over again. "Trust my shock when about the whole thing— Jon a traitor? I just couldn't believe that, but everything that was happening before my eyes was a result of the concussion that I had. And still, even after hearing about Qhorin, I still wanted to believe that Tanner was playing the traitor, not actually was one! —and now Rayder was going to use the very plan we had intended to use on him, on you.

"So now we were free and on the move towards that Frost Fangs. It took a few days of travel, but the night before we would reach the gathered clans, Tanner came to me and propositioned me. If he killed Rayder and his second, Tormund, and I killed Ygritte, we could take over the clans ourselves. Well, that backfired to all hell! Tanner didn't get the chance to kill his targets, but I went after Ygritte anyways. She got the better of me—" her face turned hot with embarrassment and shame just at the memory, "—and instead of killing me like I thought that she was going to, she bloody goes and tries to cripple me! I blacked-out and when I regained consciousness again, Jon (in a dead-state) was pulling me on this stretcher and we were at the meet-up place for the Wildlings. I killed a Wildling and we managed to escape into the Frost Fangs." She knew that she was leaving things out, small details, like how she had killed before this Wildling in her and Jon's escape to the Frost Fangs. It wasn't like she was trying to hide it, this was just a non-formal verbal report, when she was better, she knew that her and Jon were going to have to do a written one and it was there that she knew that she couldn't leave any details out. "We weren't even in the cave a full day before Ygritte found us again—at which point we fought and I killed her."

Benjen had been watching her closely ever since she first mentioned killing that Wildling to aid in their escape, and maybe he was watching for something.

The man knew then, that he had been right from the beginning, but the thought also made him feel guilt and shame. He knew what he was doing when he pulled Arya from the first-year girls’ unit and threw her to the wolves in the boys third-year unit. He'd hoped that having Jon there would mellow things out a bit for her—but then he had to go and tear their partnership apart. He all but handed Jon over to the Wildlings (for which he would later learn of the damage that Ygritte had caused Jon, not to mention Ygritte), and then after a year with a helpless partner with Tanner (handed her over to the legend of the Bloody Crows), it was like he cut her himself and tossed her into the water where the Great White swam. He knew what Tanner was, if not a traitor then, and he'd made the conscious decision to let him mold his own niece into what he was—a killer.

He knew, if not from the state of her, than from knowing her since she was born, when she was hiding something or simply not quite saying it. Though most times it was difficult, he could tell it freely now (and would later learn in the written report), just how many she had killen with her own hands.

But he didn't prod, and let her continue.

"We stayed in the cave for several more days, each of us wounded rather badly," Benjen knew all too well, "we knew that the fight had already started, Ygritte had said as much before she died—so we weren’t sure what to expect, but knew we couldn't linger any longer. We managed to make it through the Wildling camp without meeting anyone and it was when we saw the Fence in the distance, that we ran into Tanner."

Arya took a deep, shuddering breath. This was the fight, out of all that she had fought and Jon had fought, that would stick with her the longest, that affected her the most. She forced herself to continue.

"Jon and Tanner fought briefly before Tanner knocked him unconscious and came for me. Tanner was about ready to take my eye out when Jon came at him again. They tumbled around and I tried help but I don't think I was much and then suddenly... they were still. Tanner had a blade sticking out of his stomach and appeared dead, and Jon had been stabbed as well. I should have checked Tanner to make sure, but when I saw Jon..." she swallowed. "He wasn't dead. He caught me by surprise, slashed my arm" —her gaze flicked to it briefly, it was wrapped heavily in bandages and propped on a pillow at her left side, along with her broken finger; her right arm was in a similar manner— "he was very nearly stabbing me when I managed to get a hold of the knife that was still sticking out of him. I gave it a hard yank, killing him. With Jon out, and me how I was, there was nothing else to do..."

That part, Benjen remembered clearly himself. He wasn't the one who had found them initially, that had been a Hawk, but when the shout was raised... the sight of his niece and the lad he considered a son, laying there like that, their skin blue, covered in so much blood—too much blood. He'd believed then both dead, and the grief that swept through him was similar to that which he felt when Wylla had died, if not doubled.

He hadn't been Lord Commander of the Wall for all that long, and his leadership had the shadowing of an uprising since the start, but he'd accepted the promotion from Mormont anyways. In the times of quiet in the future, he would look back and always wonder if the choices he made, the lives that he put on the paths of his choosing, were indeed the right ones or if he could have been smarter.

"That's quite the tale," Benjen remarked after what seemed like a long stretch, shaking himself from the memory and back to reality.

 _If only_ , she thought. She felt exhausted all over again from just retelling it, as if she'd gone through the whole experience all over again.

"Your turn," she said after a moment, stubbornly, not liking the look on his face that took him a minute to mask over.

He nodded, clearing his throat. "The Wildlings ploughed through the Fence and into the Beyond, but I had scouts out, so the attack wasn't all together a surprise. They did have a bigger number, but we had superior weapons so it evened us out a bit—but that doesn't mean there wasn't severe losses on both sides…"

"What ended it?"

"Rayder's second was severely injured and captured, but he died before we could get him the proper medical treatment."

"Torumd." She nodded.

"And we managed to force Rayder's troops back enough to get to the King-in-the-North himself. He held himself back from the fight, and finding out that we had him surrounded, he didn't give much of a fight afterwards. Maybe realizing how many of his people he had lost over trying to claim the Wall as his, made him realize just how big a a mistake he had made in trying to take it after all.

"He's still being held at the Wall, as are most of the Wildlings that we were able to arrest, with the rest either dead, injured, or scattered back into the Neutral Zone. Those Wildlings in our brig will soon be shipped off to The Bloody Gate Penitentiary; Rayder will serve a life sentence, but the others will most like serve their sentences and be allowed back into the Neutral Zone. Those who want to appeal and stay in the Seven Kingdoms will go through Bear Islands Immigration Depot." He gave a heavy exhale.

"Even now reports are still coming in on the men that were killed and injured, Flowers has the pleasure of heading that. Not only were seasoned men with wives and children killed needlessly killed, but green recruits, just kids, most off whom have never even known what it was to love, to truly live..."

"Their deaths were not your fault, Uncle." She murmured; she could see the physical weight of their deaths on his conscious. Arya wasn't very good at the position of comforter, but she had gained a few points after what happened with Bran and her mother, and since her deep friendship with Jon, who seemed to have a more sensitive soul than her own, and wished she knew exactly what to say to help her Uncle. "Rayder was the cause of all of this."

"If I'd done things differently—" he existentially voiced his doubts.

"If you hadn't acted how you did, and Rayder was able to gain control over the Wall, who knows how much more death would have followed..." she told him. "There are things I wish I could change, that maybe things might have turned out better than they did—but wasn't it you who told me that the game of what-ifs is a useless one or maybe it was father?"

He looked at her, a little light returned to his heavy brown eyes—Jon's eyes—and gave a sad, small smile through his beard. "It was. It's moments like this, Arya, that show us who we truly are. I am very proud of you,"

Her cheeks went warm. "You, too, Uncle."

"Get some rest, Arya. You deserve it." He stood up from his stool. "I'll come back again later when I have the chance."

He looked about that he wanted to tell her something, but seemed to think against it, she’d didn’t push.

The weary creases lining his face seemed to have doubled after her report, but after seeing the compliment of both of their injuries, he didn't expect it to be cotton candy and rainbows. As much as he wished that he could have changed the way he had done things, there was no such thing as time travel, so he couldn't undo what he had done—he, and they were going to have to live with what had happened. That was just the shit-fact of life, be it in the Seven Kingdoms or anywhere else in the Known World.

"Wait!" she suddenly shouted, remembering something that had been pushed to the back of her thoughts at seeing Benjen and learning of Jon condition. Benjen paused at the door and turned back to her. "Gendry. What happened to Gendry?"

It took a second for him to place the name. "Waters." He tried to think back if he'd heard news on the boy. "It's been rather hectic these last few days in the aftermath, and we're still getting reports on the injured and dead. If I'm remembering correctly," he carded his fingers through his already mussed hair, "he's considered MIA. I'm sorry. He's neither checked in nor has his body been found."

Arya nodded, tight lipped and he finally left the room. She turned her gaze from the door and towards Jon. Gendry may have been missing, but Jon was right there and she wasn't going to let him out of her sight unless strictly necessary—she didn't care.

Now, after seeing the weight and affect it had on her Uncle, she could understand why Jon had told her that knowing information could be a great burden and that he would rather have been in her oblivious position; but what she also knew was that had their rolls been reversed and had Benjen included her in instead, he would feel exactly as she did.

Until finally, her eyes drifted closed and stayed that was for a bit.

….

Tanner's skull-like face flashed and flickered behind her closed eyelids. An odd expression in his dark, pitiless dark eyes that might have conveyed pride in his student, even as she eviscerated him. She almost could see his lips moving: _Quick_ — _Clean_ — _Merciless._

Her eyes cracked open in the darkened room, cased silver from the moonlight streaming in from the near-ceiling windows, nearly overpowered by the automatic security lights that flood the grounds throughout the night. A light sweat beaded her forehead.

She'd gutted him, just like he'd done to that moose that he had made her slaughter in the Haunted Woods two-years ago after he painted her with its still warm blood. That was the first thing that she had slain, it had been under his instruction. It was ironic, just, that she was to the one to kill him. A student besting her master, disembowelling him just as he had done to the first real thing that she had killen, that young bull after he'd painted her face with its still hot blood.

She was his protégé. It had to be her. It was always going to be her from the very start.

She thought back and tried to remember all those that she had killed. The ones that were made so because of his own hands shaping her into just that.

There was the half-breed that she shot behind the balcony door at the watchtower; the half-breed’s jugular that she stabbed when she and Jon went on patrol; the Wildling guard in the camp that she stabbed through the underside of his chin; (the other was impaled on the metal bar in the ground due more to Jon jumping on his back, than to her); the Wildling that she strangled in order for her and Jon to escape to the Frost Fangs, then there was Ygritte, who she hurried along to the afterlife with a stab to the throat; and then, lastly, Tanner, her mentor turned enemy, hurried along to Hell by disembowelment.

In the span on a few weeks, she'd killed six people. She was an innocent in that respect, until suddenly she wasn't any more, and could be labelled a killer. Just what Tanner had intended to mold her into. She'd only used a gun once to kill, but it was still up close. The other times, they'd been right there in her arms, their blood spilled on her hands.

She literally had _blood_ on her hands.

It was a bit disconcerting how quickly she was accepting this as a part of her. It just seemed to fall in place as a part of her life. Those Wildlings and half-breeds that she'd killed were meaningless to her, but Tanner and Ygritte were a different story. It was those two who she'd find herself thinking of at unexpected times, who she'd dream about. She knew them. They were her mentor and her rival.

Though she had lost that innocence, Jon hadn't, though he was less innocent in terms while she was more. He would never have this burden, at least not for now.

She slowly shifted a bit more onto her side so that she wouldn't get that bad of a crick in her neck as she stared across the short space that lay between her and Jon. She could see the curve of his nose, and a diamond of light on his cheek, but his black hair and dark beard seemed to suck the rest of the light from the windows away.

It had been a couple days since she'd woken up, and there was still no change.

She sometimes thought that if she stared at him long enough, hard enough, it would make him uncomfortable even in his unconscious-subconscious state, and he wake up just to tell her to knock it off. It was a childish thought, similar to ones that she had with Bran after his fall. But even if it wasn't that that awoke her little brother, he _had_ woken up—so the same was going to happen to Jon. It had taken a bit for the Stark boy, but she was sure that Jon had Stark blood in his veins too.

"Come back soon, won't you, Jon?" she whispered into the beeping of the heart monitor and the _csshhh_ of the ventilator. And, of course he didn't answer her—but soon.

….

Talisa helped her back into bed. It had been four days since she'd woken up, a week since Benjen found her and Jon, and this had been her first venture out of the room. She'd been stinking up something foul, and a medical whore's bath wasn't doing her justice so Talisa had come and taken her to the bath facilities in the medical building.

Insisting stubbornly that she could walk there herself (after being assisted in sitting up in the first place), she didn't make it further than the ten-feet to the door (the only reason she didn't hurt herself further as her injured leg gave out beneath her was because Talisa was hovering right at her elbow in case of such a situation). She got a free ride in a wheelchair through the halls instead.

Talisa stripped her of her gown, and she sat naked on a stool in the wide shower stall, various parts of her body wrapped in gauze, a double IV in her left elbow, one fluids, the other morphine (she usually didn't like the stuff, but right now she milking it for all she could get).

She couldn't do much, but for whatever reason, this was less humiliating than when her mother had to help her shower four years ago when she was still partners with Gendry.

Talisa sprayed her with the handheld showerhead and she groaned as the warm spray hit her grimy skin. It's been almost a month since she'd had an actually shower, it was long fucking overdue. She did what she could with one arm in a cast and sling, and the other with a broken finger and her forearm all wrapped up and riddled with 21 stitches (her right shoulder carrying them inside and out with 5 stitches/ her thigh wound had to be gutted again and cleaned and then glued liberally and stapled for good measure, the flesh too torn and ragged to try stitches), Talisa doing the rest.

When they were done, though she felt tired, she felt more relaxed than she had been since she'd woken up. It was almost like taking that shower had washed some of the tenseness inside of her away. And when they returned to the room, with Arya about ready for a bloody nap, the teen was in for a grand surprise.

"What's happening?!" she exclaimed, getting ready to jump from the wheelchair, all previous relaxation vanishing in a blink, but Talisa easily pushed her back into the chair with a hand on her good shoulder.

Dr. Luwin and Dr. Mordane were both crowded around Jon's bed. His heart monitor was going haywire and the young man seemed to be straining in the bed, but she couldn't see much with Mordane in the way.

She never should have left the room, she just knew it!

But Talisa reassured, "It's okay."

"What's happening?" she repeated through gritted teeth.

"They're taking out his breathing tube—"

"What? They can't do that, he needs it!"

"Not if he's awake," she pointed out softly.

"Yes, he—!" what the woman just said seemed to have sunk in. Arya shot a glance back at her to see her smiling gently. "A-awake?"

Talisa nodded. "Awake."

Arya looked back towards Jon's bed, and as she made herself focus, she could hear what they were saying as Talisa wheeled her into a better position to see her partner.

"There you go," Luwin murmured as Jon started to hack and cough, "That it."

Finally, he stopped and lay back exhausted, gasping, a bit wheezy sounding, his soft brown gaze a little blurred as he looked around in confusion. Mordane gave him water in much the same manner that Benjen had done for her a few days before. He gulped at it eagerly, thirsty, before he pulled back again.

"Jon, it's Dr. Luwin, remember? You're back at the Wall in the New Gift, the medical building. You're safe now, all right?"

"Awr..." he cleared his throat. " 'Ya?" he croaked.

"Here!" Arya gasped before either doctor could speak her absence. "Here." Talisa wheeled her closer as the three others were drawn to her voice.

"Good." He whispered, giving a tired but happy smile, his voice sounding like gravel. "How are you doing?"

"It's not me I'm worried about." She threw him a grin, her hair still damp from her shower. "Welcome back to the Land of the Living."

The others left after a quick exam, but the pair didn't much notice, just too relieved to be seeing each other again.

"Heh. Thanks. What happened? How long have I been out?" he wondered.

"Too fucking long." She muttered. "You've been out a week."

"Funny. I feel tired as hell," he remarked.

"I don't know how long after the fight with Tanner, but Benjen found us, bloody and blue. Tanner stabbed you in the gut pretty good, but you returned the favour."

He looked relieved at that. "Good." Arya wondered if she should tell him that he wasn't actually the one to kill Tanner, when he seemed to notice that there was something she was holding back. "What? Something happened that you're not telling me."

She glanced away for a moment before looking back at him. His face was pale and drawn, pain circling his soft brown eyes just like the dark circles on Benjen‘s. Tanner had broken his nose, but it had been straightened back up so he wouldn't have a crooked nose when it healed. She gave a long exhale.

"Well... you and Tanner were brawling and then it suddenly just stopped. I ran over to you guys, scared shitless when I pushed Tanner off you to see the stab wound you had. I hardly gave Tanner a second glance, so that was on me. He gave me this," —she lifted her left arm and showed him the wrapped length of her forearm and the corners of his eyes tightened— "and in return, I gutted him." Her expression was stoic.

She saw the guilt gleam in his eyes as they flickered away from hers, just like she knew he would. That was why she didn't want to say anything because even though he had been stabbed himself and nearly died, he still didn't think that was enough, not when Tanner had almost killed Arya anyways.

She reached out with her left hand and gripped his as fiercely as she could with her splinted finger. "Let just cut this shit out right now." She said and a dark brow of his flickered up. "We could both go around in circles with guilt about not being able to do more to protect each other from getting hurt, but it's just a waste of time, okay? We reacted how we could, and did what we were able—we’re both alive now, injured and scarred, but alive— _that_ is what matters. Alright?" After a long moment, his lips pressed tight, he nodded and squeezed her hand back. "Good. Now, are you going to sleep, or do you want me to give you the gist of what Benjen told me happened with the battle against Rayder?"

He gave her an obvious raised brow which doubled as ironic. "Gist, please."

"That's what I thought!" she smiled.

….

When next Benjen visited, his feelings of relief at seeing Jon awake was even more palpable than when he'd first come to visit Arya when she woke up.

"Jon," he breathed, running his hand gently over the young man's dark curls. "I'm assuming that Arya told you all that had happened?" he sent a small smile over his shoulder to his niece.

Jon nodded. "I'm glad you're okay, Benjen."

The older man gave a soft chuckle. "I believe I'm the one that's supposed to say that to you. I was so happy to hear you'd woken up, I came as soon as I'd heard."

"I know that you're busy with all that's happened..."

Benjen shook his head. "You are more important than any of that."

Jon's cheeks warmed as he heard the truth in Benjen's words.

"Jon," Benjen said slowly after a moment. "There was something that I discovered when you and Arya first came in, that you should know..."

Jon furrowed his brows in worry when the Stark didn't immediately continue. Was it so bad that he didn't want to say? Arya grew uneasy as well. If it was so important, why hadn't he said when she'd first woken up? She remembered that incident where he seemed hesitant in telling her something that was on her mind, and wondered if this was it.

"When we'd finally gotten you back to the Wall, you'd lost so much blood... you were on Death's Door. You needed a blood transfusion, and fast, but you're blood type is so rare..."

"What are you saying?' Jon asked when the man seemed to be having trouble saying what he wanted to say. The longer this dragged on, the faster his heart beat. What horrible news did he have to share?

Even if Jon was too dense to see how this conversation was going to end, Arya wasn't. She bit her tongue to keep from bursting out—it was Benjen's right to tell Jon, not her.

Benjen took a deep breath, feeling the pleased heat flow through his blood as he thought about it. Every time he did, his heart did a pleased flip inside his stomach; he didn't think he'd ever stop getting that feeling and he didn't think that he wanted to. This news was the most pleasing inside the Hell that this last month had been. He hoped that Jon would feel the same way, sure that the young man's feelings hadn't changed even after all these years after they'd talked about it several years beforehand.

"I have that same blood type. Actually, it seems to flow in the Stark blood—Arya even has it, in fact—I donated to the both of you. But what I'm saying—or trying to say—is, that after Dr. Luwin did your surgery, he came to me and said that he thought I should know that you're my son."

Jon looked at the man with an open mouth. Did Benjen just say what he thought he'd heard?

Benjen didn't pester him for his response, just let him process the information.

"I knew it!" Arya crowed into the silence, unable to stop herself. Both men looked over at her with a cocked brow and she just grinned wider in response.

"Son?" Jon repeated, turning his attention back to Benjen, Arya's outburst jarring him back into reality. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it." Benjen chuckled lightly, gripping his hand. "I know that we agreed that it didn't matter if we knew if we were connected by blood, father and son, that it didn't change the love and respect we had for each other—but, Jon, I am glad to finally know for sure, I'm proud that I get to say that you're my son. I loved you since the second your mother put you in my arms."

"You know you've always been a father to me," Jon said, smiling. "But I am glad to finally know the truth for sure. In my heart that's what you were always were—and now when I tell people you're my dad, I won't be lying."

Benjen stood and gave him a careful hug, giving a breathless chuckle, his brown eyes shining.

 _Finally, something good came out of all this shit_ , thought Arya, watching with a tickle of jealousy. What she wouldn't give for Ned to hug her firmly to his chest, enveloping her with that safety she knew she'd never stop feeling from his boundless love for her. To have Catelyn fuss over her in worry, and scold her for being reckless at the same time.

Soon, she knew, when she was well enough to travel, she'd be sent home on Medical Leave again, just like she'd been three years ago (only her healing would take much longer this time round), but what about Jon? Would he stay here, with nowhere else to go?

She watched the pair out the corner of her eye, feeling like she was a part of it, but an intruder on the moment just as she had almost five years ago when the question of who Jon's father really was came around the first time. Jon was her cousin, they really were connected by blood, not just blood brother and sister. The only other cousin she had was her mother's younger sister, Lysa's, kid, Robin. He was a year or so younger than Bran, sickly and odd. She'd only met the boy once, before Rickon was even born, she'd been about five and he'd been about one.

She'd didn't remember much, but for the fact that her Aunt didn't let the boy down once from her hold, overprotective to the very limit. From what she knew, Robin was home schooled and exempted from a mandatory run through the APA course in The Eyrie for four-years after he turned fifteen because of his medical issues.

She wouldn't let Jon go if she could help it.

….

It was about a week later, that a commemorative ceremony was held for those fallen in the battle for the Wall, dubbed The Battle for Castle Black. Every soldier and recruit that was able, attended, the assembly held in the only area of the Wall large enough to fit such a big number of bodies—the New Gift training grounds. Thankfully, Gendry was part of this number; having returned from the Beyond with several (in the long run) superficial wounds a couple days after Arya had asked after him when she woke up.

A quarter over 200 hundred names were read off the KIA list, some names that Arya recognised as recruits that her and Jon had trained with—Grenn and Pyp among them—but most she didn't. Benjen then mentioned those few who were still MIA, and came the line of names of those who were injured in the battle and were called up to receive the Purple Heart—Arya and Jon among them.

Just when the pain was really starting to seep into her consciousness, having been sitting through the ceremony for hours yet, her pain meds wearing thin, Benjen postponed his closing speech by calling both her and Jon onto the small portable dais, the same that was used when they were promoted to Corporals.

Sharing an equally confused look the Jon, the pair, both on crutches, made a slow, hobbling progress through the center aisle and onto the stage where they stopped next to Benjen.

He flashed them a encouraging smile before he turned back to the podium and addressed the assembly of Wall soldiers, men and a few scattered women.

"As most of you have heard by now, over the last week or so, the Wildlings' attack on the Wall was not spontaneous decision on their part, nor were we caught with our pants down as the saying goes. Each and every man here fought valiantly for both their Country and fellow soldier. I am proud to have all of you under my command. It was a trying time, but we prevailed through thick and thin.

"Next to me stand two of the bravest and loyal soldiers any of us could hope to know. Putting aside their own safety, they infiltrated the Ranks of the Wildlings—a feat that has never been accomplished since the erection of the Wall thousands of years ago—killing a ranking member of the Wildlings, and the lead traitor amongst our own Ranks!

"Loyalty is not something that is learned, it’s something that's born into your character. And I am proud to say, to my niece—and my son... Congratulations for becoming a Officer in the Night's Watch, Crow division, at the ranking of Sergeant!"

There was applause as Benjen stepped to each Stark in turn and pinned the Sergeant bars on the shoulder straps of their Dress Blacks, their previously awarded Purple Hearts pinned to their left breasts' by Flowers.

Arya felt a warm and embarrassed feeling bloom inside of her chest. She didn't do the things that she did because she wanted the attention and fame. She did it for her and Jon's survival, to protect her family and the innocent people of the Seven Kingdoms. She'd killed, even murdered. She had blood on her hands now, but it was a burden she could accept, live with, if it meant that all these people were still here today. She would never be sure how big of a contribution she had actually made to the battle, and she never would unless she could get her hands on a time machine and not do everything that she had done, but that was impossible—so she would just accept the consequences of these actions, now.

There were little things that she might have wanted to change if she could, but she didn't think she would change the big things. Tanner and Ygritte had to die, who could know what kind of damage they would have cause if Arya hadn't killed them?

….

A day after the ceremony, it was finally time for Arya to take her Medical Leave, a not completely unfamiliar thing for her. She was happy to be going back to Winterfell, to see the rest of her family after all the horrible and painful shit that went down this last month. The only difference this time around was that she wouldn't be going alone—Jon was finally coming with her this time.

Even if, for whatever reason, Benjen had refused to let Jon come with her, she was determined on the matter and would conned his passage on the Medical Transport with her. But Benjen thankfully saw reason and she didn't have to pit herself against the Wall security.

Arya said her goodbyes to Benjen and even Gendry, before she got into the extended van (that was much like a RV but pimped out for medical use), while Jon took a minute longer to depart with his newly discovered father. Talisa (in the passenger front seat) was accompanying them to Pack Heart Clinic in Winterfell, along with several other soldiers in variously wounded states, who would either be dropped off in towns on the way to Winterfell, or be going to whole way.

Finally, limping, lightly hunched over with an arm around his, Jon sat down heavily in the seat next to Arya in the forward compartment with the more stable wounded.

Door secured, all passengers on-board, they finally started through the exit check-points from the Wall and were on their way down through the north.

She gave him a small grin, "Was it the sappiest scene ever?"

He gave her a droll look. "We'll see after we get to Winterfell."

She gave a small huff of laughter at that. Yes, it would most definitely be a scene to remember. The phone call she made before getting on the bus was just a brief taste—thankfully she had the luck of the draw.

Before leaving the Wall, Arya managed to call home, but Ned had be away at work; Robb doing final exams; Sansa was down south in Highgarden, a model now for a Agency run by the widely known Tyrell brother and sister Loras and Margaery; Catelyn out shopping with Rickon—so that left Bran who answered the phone.

 _"Stark residences,"_ a bored voice drawled on the other end of the line.

"Hey—"

" _Arya_?!" Bran gasped as he recognized his sister's voice.

"Yeah, it's me."

 _"Uncle Benjen called about a week or so ago and said that you were injured, but okay—we haven't heard anything since_!"

"There isn't much I can really say about that, not right now at least, but I _am_ all right. I'm coming home for a bit,"

 _"If you're coming_ ," he said, " _then you really aren't okay_." His tone swam with worry, " _Arya_ —"

"I really am!" she protested lightly.

" _You always say that. After everything that's happened_ —"

"Hey, I'm the big sister here, remember? This conversation should be going the other way around."

 _"Well—I'm not the one that vanishes with no letters or calls for a month—and then ends up injured enough that she had to be sent home!"_ Bran shouted at her.

"Okay—Okay." She said placatingly. "It might've been a bit rough for a bit, but everything's really okay now... I swear."

"Riiight..." he sounded dubious.

She ignored the tone. "Look, I have to go... tell mum and dad I'm coming home for a bit and that you guys shouldn't worry—and I have a big surprise, too! Okay?"

" _A surprise_?" he asked. " _What kind of surprise_?"

Arya chuckled at his curious and wheedling tone. "Like I said, a big one—and that's all the spoilers you're going to get!"

 _"That's not a spoiler at all_!" he pouted.

"Didn't I just say that it was big?"

" _That could mean anything."_

"It'll blow you're mind." She whispered intensely.

" _Arya_!" he protested in exasperation. _"If you're being like this, then maybe you really aren't that hurt."_

"Told you. Okay, so I really have to go this time. Tell everyone?"

"Yeah, okay, but mum's gonna be upset that she wasn't here when you called. Love you, sis."

"You too, Bran. And don't worry, she'll have a long while to maul me while I'm there. We'll be dropped off at the Pack Heart Clinic again."

"We...?" Bran tried to prompt one last time.

"See you soon," she said, amused.

He relented with a sigh, _"Bye..."_

"See you,"

She'd been super glad that it had been Bran who had answered. He knew more about her time at the Wall than anyone else back home. Just like he had requested three-years ago back in the hospital after he had finally woken up from his accident running the APA Course, she didn't leave out a detail. About the injuries and scars she'd gotten (ones that their parents didn't even know about), she'd even written to him about Ygritte (though she didn't go into as much detail with that). He would understand more than anybody, the loss of his legs seemed to have made him mature beyond his years. But it also made him conscious of how easily things could go wrong, but that didn't mean that he should be afraid to take the world by the balls.

….

When Arya stepped out of the transport in front of Pack Heart Clinic in Winterfell, it was with an aching back and slap of relief. She'd been stuck inside that van for what felt like weeks, it had been like being back in the cave all over again—but for the food, water and slightly better comfort.

If it wasn't for Jon to keep her company, she might've killed everyone else just for lack of anything better to do; by Jon's expression when she glanced over at him, she knew he felt the same.

"Inside, you two." Talisa told the pair as nursing staff came out the clinic and collected to the two other wounded "A final check-up with a doctor before you can go anywhere."

"Great," Arya muttered without much enthusiasm as her and Jon started to long journey from the vehicle to the Clinic entrance.

" _Uht_ ," Talisa stopped them and gestured to two orderlies who waited with a set of wheelchairs.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Arya exclaimed.

"Not in the least, it's policy."

Arya opened her mouth to retort what she really thought of this ridiculous policy when Jon muttered to her, "Best to just get it over with—it's not worth the energy."

She growled in response, but complied, unwilling to admit that he was right. Despite it being a bit over two weeks, and doing nothing but lounging for the last few, she felt nearly as shaky as a new-born pup. It sucked.

They were wheeled into the clinic, through the cramped waiting room, down the same hall, but different exam rooms. This was going to be fun... not.

…

Arya and Jon finished up around the same time, Jon taking a bit longer because he had to have actually surgery when they were rescued. An hour—one bloody hour of poking and stretching and prodding—it did nothing but make her more sore and irritated than she already was!

Jon's own expression was alit with renewed pain, his whole torso was tender and sore. "They're sadists, the lot of them!" an orderly parked him next to Arya outside on the walk, out of the way.

Arya scoffed, rolling the sucker in her mouth to the opposite cheek. "I'm pretty sure there's a whole course they offer up just for it."

He looked over at her with narrowed eyes.

"What?" she wondered, it taking a moment for her to realise that he was glaring at the lightly bobbing paper stick sticking out from between her lips. "Didn’t you get one?"

"I'm an adult."

She smirked. "Jealous?"

He scoffed in derision and purposefully turned his gaze away.

Rolling her eyes and fighting a smile, she took the sucker from her mouth and held it out towards him in her good arm, the paper stick pinched between her thumb and middle finger. "Want the rest?"

He looked back at her with a weird expression on his face.

"What?" she wondered again, incredulous this time around. "Tell me you're not worried about some little-kid cooties you might catch. After everything...?" she shook her head slowly, mockingly.

He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the red, half-eaten candy and popped it into his parched mouth. "Happy?" he asked around the cherry flavoured candy and a mouth fun of saliva.

"Delighted." She deadpanned.

He started to laugh before he winced at the pain in his abdomen and made himself stop. "I can totally see it on your face, right there."

This time, it was her turn to laugh and they shared a grin.

"Hey, guys." Talisa walked out through the automatic doors and over to them. "I got some water if you want any; I thought you might be thirsty under this hot sun."

They both murmured their thanks and took the proffered bottles. The truth was, the sun was pretty hot, but Arya was basking in every minute of it. She was so sick of the cold and the snow. It was ironic, seeing as she was born in Winterfell, a city that was known for it's long and harsh winters (which she always loved as a kid), but she needed a long break from that just now—thankfully, it was the summer season right now.

Talisa took a seat on the bench behind them, the very same that Arya had sat on all those years before as she waited for her dad and mum to come and pick her up.

Jon flicked the empty paper stick into the garbage can by the entrance.

The three sat in companionable silence.

….

Even though it was a common model, Arya recognized that family van for what it was—the Starks'. Her heart race picked up and she was suddenly nervous as the vehicle pulled into a empty space in the lot, the closest being halfway down a side row.

"They're here," Arya told Jon, unconsciously straightening despite the protests of her right shoulder.

"What?" Jon looked startled. "Now?" he looked back to the lot, shifting in his own chair despite the protests of his injuries and slowly healing body.

"There," she pointed with her broken finger at the back half of the van whose brake lights just faded, though she was sure that it wasn't much of a help in the crowded lot, but with the slamming of the van door, she knew he found it.

That was weird, she'd expected her mum and dad, Bran, but it was a solitary figure that started down the lane— "Robb?"

"Is something wrong?" Talisa asked, standing up from the bench as Robb's figure sped up as he spotted Arya.

"It's just weird that he's alone," she muttered to herself. She made to stand, but the idea was quickly aborted. Her leg didn't want to take the strain, let alone her injured arms doing the work of pushing herself up—it just wasn't going to happen.

"Ar!" Robb cried, and to an outside observer, it might've sounded like he was attempting to be a pirate, but it was just his pet name for her.

He looked about to tackle her in a hug, but skidded to a halt (nearly tumbling into her anyways) when he could see just how injured she was. In a pair of shorts and a Wall workout tee he could see the bandage peeking out from her left thigh, her knee brace on her right, her left finger broken and hand wrapped, her entire forearm engulfed by bandage, her right arm in a cast and a sling, and even more bandages were peeking out the collar of her shirt. She had a myriad of cuts, scrapes and bruises; those on her face yellowed out and nearly completely healed.

Most all of Jon's wounds and bulk of bandages were hidden under his track pants and long sleeve. If Arya could have, she would have worn the same, but with her cast and knee brace, her clothing options were limited.

"Arya!" he gasped this time as he looked at her, the relief and delight at seeing his little sister was engulfed now by worry and concern. "What happened? Are you okay?"

She smiled up at him as unconcerned as she might and avoided the question. "Hey, bro." She said casually, looking back around his at the van in case she had somehow missed anyone else—but that didn't appear to be the case. "Where’s dad and mum?"

"It's just me," he mumbled in a distracted manner, the van keys clutched in his hand as he finally seemed to notice Jon and Talisa. "Uh..." he said awkwardly, his eye seeming to catch the woman more than the young man.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Robb, this is one of the NPs from the Wall, Talisa—Talisa, with his my older brother Robb."

"Hi," Robb mumbled.

"Hello." Talisa gave him a soft smile.

Robb cleared his throat. "Uh, thank you for looking after my sister. Injury sometimes likes to make it her middle name."

Talisa chuckled at the lame joke and Arya felt embarrassed for herself and her brother who was grinning at the woman unashamedly. "It was no trouble at all,"

"It was nice to meet you, Talisa." Robb said slowly, taking her hand and shaking it, his gaze and touch lingering a bit longer than was the norm.

"You as well, Robb." Going by Talisa's sweet smile and sparkling eyes, she didn't seem to mind it. Arya flashed Jon a absurd look unnoticed. "Take care of these two, won't you? It's like they're drawn to danger,"

"I will," he nodded, not even glancing their way, "don't worry."

She gave him a warm smile, saying goodbye to both her and Jon before she turned back to the Clinic entrance.

"Oh, my Gods!" Arya exclaimed at her brother as soon as the woman disappeared through the automatic doors. "Flirt much?"

"Huh?" Robb finally looked at her. "What?"

"Ugh!" she made a face at him. "Can you be more obvious? You were practically drooling!"

"I was not!" he protested, but wiped his mouth with the back of his hand despite himself. "Mind you're own business!"

She scoffed. "Kinda hard when you're were basically leaning over me to do it—I might've moved, but as you can see, that's a bit hard right now."

"It's good to see you, Arya." He told her suddenly, sobering. "You don't seemed to have changed a bit."

"Yeah, well..." she gave him a mock haughty face that made him chuckle. "This is Jon, by the way—"

"Hello," Jon held out his hand.

Robb looked at him, "Hi," suddenly looking embarrassed at his rudeness.

"— Seeing as you were too love-stricken to notice your own cousin."

"I was no—wait! What did you just say?" He looked between her and Jon.

"I'm Benjen's son." Jon told him, almost a bit awkwardly.

"Benjen doesn't have son," Robb said in confusion.

Arya rolled her eyes. "He didn't _know_ he had a son—it was just confirmed via blood test not even two weeks ago."

"Holy shit!" Robb exclaimed. "Wow, it is really nice to meet you, Jon." He shook the Crow's hand again, more heartedly this time around.

Jon gave him a small smile. "You, too. I always wanted to meet Arya's family—but I guess it's my family now, too, huh?"

"You bet your ass!" He looked at the man, appraising. "I can't believe I didn't notice how much you look like him. Now that you've said it, it's hard to miss—So, what do you say? You guys want to get the hell outta here?"

They both verbalised their agreement, and Robb ran back to get the van and pulled it up to the entrance. With a bit of manoeuvring, the pair settled into the back seat of the van, leaving the wheelchairs behind, and Robb got back into the driver's seat.

"Wait—" he twisted in the driver's seat to look round at Arya, "Is this the 'surprise' that you got Bran all obsessed about when you called?"

She quietly sniggered. "I'm going for a shock-and-wow bit." Arya said. "What do you think? Did this test run work?"

"Nailed it."

"Hey. I am right here, you know." Jon grouched.

Robb gave him a softly amused expression before he face forward again, "You’re a Stark now, Jon. Get used to it,"

Jon suddenly got a homely feeling. He had been nervous as hell. It felt like but a minute ago that he had no family, and now, suddenly—the whole Stark clan was going to be thrust upon him. But if his meeting Robb was any omen to go by, he'd feel completely Stark before the end of the day.

Robb put the van into DRIVE, and pulled from the Pack Heart Clinic parking lot, and into the busy downtown street. Arya waited until they went through a few lights before she asked what had been bothering her since Robb arrived.

"Robb?"

"Yeah...?"

"Where are mum and dad? Why didn’t they come?"

"Arya... don't you know what day it is?"

She shook her head in confusion. "No. Where we were the last month didn't exactly have a calendar."

She could feel the foreboding coming from him like an almost physical thing in the passenger seat next to him. He took a deep breath, and looked at her through the rearview as he stopped at a red light.

"It's the APA run this week and Rickon turned fifteen almost a week ago."

"What?" Arya gasped, horrified. "He can't run that, not after Bran—!"

"Arya," Jon murmured, a gently on her left shoulder—but the comforting gesture did nothing to help.

"Robb! Why are you here?" she demanded, "You should be there!"

"Ar," he said in a quiet but firm reassuring tone as the light turned green and an impatient honk from behind urged him through the intersection. "This is nothing like with what happened to Bran. The sun is high in the sky, not a rain cloud in sight. He was scared to death, after he saw what happened to Bran. Mum has no intention of letting him go to the Wall—even if he had wanted to—but he doesn't—he knows not to go at it hard. I've went over the course with him—he _knows, he‘s ready."_

Arya forced herself to be grounded, by Robb's steady and sure voice, and Jon's warm hand on her shoulder. She took a shuddering breath and forced the tears of fear that had suddenly sprung in her grey eyes, back. She gave Robb a nod and he returned his focus back onto the road after a moment.

Jon squeezed her shoulder. Arya felt sick with herself, horrible. She couldn't believe that she had forgotten. She used to love the APA, her dream had come true when they had allowed her to run the course and she'd been allowed to join the Wall as a result. But than it was Bran's turn, and he'd fallen off the wall, broke his hip and crushed a few vertebra in his back, losing the use of his legs—and she'd despised it ever since.

It took Arya a long moment to recognize what street they were on. "We're not going to the Stadium?" she asked.

Robb shook his head. "It's almost over now, and anyways, I don't think either of you are up to trouncing around. The pair of you looked dead on your feet,"

"Well, we're actually dead on our arses at the moment." Jon joked tentatively.

Robb chuckled. "Now I know you really are related to us." He mused. "Here we are," he pulled into the empty lot outside of the brownstone.

Arya hadn't been home enough since Bran's accident to be familiar with the modifications that were made to the house to make it more accessible for him. Arya and Jon weren't in wheelchairs like before, but not that she'd admit it, it would have been a little less strenuous.

Robb had already had their bags out of the trunk and was waiting on the front terrace by the time Arya had managed to get out of the van, and it was Jon's turn. She hated feeling like this, it just wasn't her. Her body wasn't meant to be idle, but with a broken-down/battered body like hers was right now—all she really wanted to do was lie down. She could tell Jon wanted the same, but he didn't seem about to admit that, and neither was she. Starks were stubborn to the point where they did more harm to themselves than good—there was just no way around it, it was in their DNA.

"Bran!" Robb shouted inside the short entrance hall, setting the two duffels at the base of the stairs, "I'm back with Arya and a friend."

"Coming!" Bran shouted back in excitement.

Arya paused briefly in the doorway, having come up the ramp, Jon right behind her, as Bran raced around the corner in his chair. Robb had to jump on the stairs to avoid being run over as Bran halted five-feet short of her. He let out an exclaim at the sight of her, but she smiled down at him.

He'd let his hair grow out since she last saw him, it was down to his shoulders by now. And the only reason that she was looking down at him right now, was because he was in a wheelchair, otherwise he would have been just a couple inches shorter than Jon, who was 5'10" when he stood up straight. He looked more grown up, had lost any boyish softness and had bulked up a bit, it appeared; gaining that upper-body muscle from having to push himself around for the last three-years.

"You look good, kid." She smiled tiredly at him.

He scoffed. "I wish I could say the same." He shook his head in worry at the sight of his sister so battered, "Arya..." he should have seen her two weeks ago, that was a whole other picture.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine. I'm not dying. I'm going to heal." She went through all the usually meaningless answers to the usual droll questions. "Now go," she laughed as he glared at her with tight lips. "I need to sit down, or else I might just sit on you and get a free ride."

One last flickering gaze at her and Bran reversed and turned, leading the way to the nearest sitting arrangement, the dinning room in the belly of the kitchen. Arya followed, Jon coming after with an encouraging pat on the back from Robb.

Arya went for the second nearest seat, leaving the nearest for the newly discovered Stark child.

Jon sat gratefully at the table, a nearly inaudible groan leaving him—but not silent enough.

"Who's this?" Bran asked curiously, his brown eyes pinned to Jon, too intent on his sister to notice the stranger until now.

"This was the surprise I told you about," Arya said, a littler more light-hearted about Rickon now that she'd seen Bran.

"He is?" Bran now looked at the older man with confusion.

"I'm Jon," Jon introduced himself, leaning forward slightly, and proffering his hand to the teen.

"Jon!" Bran crowed in surprise, wheeling forward and shaking Jon's hand eagerly. "I'd heard so much about you from Arya's letters—it's so cool to meet you."

Jon smiled. "Same here."

Bran sat back, grinning. "I can't believe you're back, Arya, and with Jon, too—mum's gonna flip!"

"In more way's than one." Robb muttered, handing out a round of cokes.

"What do you mean?" Bran asked. "Did something else happen?"

"You mean other than several near-death experiences?" Robb scoffed, popping his tab.

Arya shared a quick look with Jon. "You're exaggerating…"

"How would any of us know?" Robb returned. "You haven't said shit about what happened to you—probably some black ops shit!"

"Really?!" Bran looked excitedly at his big sister, ready for the juicey bits that she never said over the phone.

"No." Arya told them in a straight tone, looking at Jon.

"Ha! than what was with that look?" Robb crowed at the pair, pointing between them.

"What look?" she returned innocently, taking a sip from her coke. She hadn't drunk pop in such a long time, the bubbles burned her throat and she fought the cough that wanted to take her. "And even if there was something, we'd never be able to say a word..."

Robb scowled at her and Bran looked a bit disappointed.

"So..." Jon said into the silence awkwardly.

"How long are you staying?" Bran suddenly perked up.

"Probably about the same as last time," Arya told him, "A month or so."

"Cool." He mused, "by the looks of things, the two of you could use it."

"Ha ha." She mocked. "But we'll take it anyways if you don't mind."

"You can stay in Sansa's room while she's away, and Jon can take my old room since I moved into Robb's 'cause of the bigger size." Bran said.

Jon started, "Oh, I can't—"

Robb waved him off. "The room's empty. I don't live here anymore, so you're not intruding."

Arya looked at him in surprise. "You're not?"

He shook his head. "Moved out a couple weeks ago—got a cheap little condo downtown."

"I can't believe I didn't know that," she muttered.

"Well, you were out of touch for the last month..." Bran tried to prompt her.

"Nice try." She said dryly.

He sighed in disappointment, but it sounded determined. This wouldn't be the last time that he tried to get her to spill.

"Wait," Bran just remembered, thinking of something else.

Arya looked wary. "What?"

"What was the other thing that mum was going to flip about?"

"Oh, just a little thing." Arya waved it away casually, suddenly playful, having nearly forgotten that he didn't know about Jon.

Bran narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

"No biggy..."

"Tell me." He insisted intensely. "I want to know."

"If you insist." Arya sent a smile Jon's way, and Bran looked between the pair suspiciously. "Well, Bran. Why don't you say hi to your new found cousin?"

It took a second for the information to make a impact as he connected the very obvious dots.

"What?!" Bran exclaimed in astonishment, gaping at Jon. "I didn't know that Uncle Benjen had any kids!"

Robb chuckled. "Believe me, I was shocked, too."

"When?—how'd you find out?" Bran asked curiously. "I mean, haven't you been at the Wall for years? How could you not of known?"

Jon looked stymied by the rapid-fire questions for a moment, before he managed to short himself out at such direct questions and figure he should just go for it.

"Well, I've only known officially for about a week or so by now. To be honest, it's still feels unbelievable every time I think about it. I mean, Benjen has been in my life since I was born, and I've always thought of him as a father-figure—I never knew who my father was, but finding out it was actually the man who I always wanted to be..." he shook his head in self-amazement, a happy smile on his lips. "Now I found out that he's my father—and I have a bunch of cousins, too. Arya's my best-friend, I always thought of her like a sister and now it's like she actually is!"

"Well, we're all glad that you're here Jon, and happy to have you as part of the family." Robb told him, nodding. "Anyone hungry?"

Everyone murmured their agreement, and Robb made up a quick box of Kraft Dinner for them all. The chatted amiably with each other as they ate and it was just as they were finishing that they heard the front door open.

"Hello?" a light and deep voice called from the entrance hall.

Arya would recognize that voice anywhere, and she lit up. "Daddy!"

"Little Wolf, is that you?" Ned got his answer as he came into the kitchen, laden with some grocery bags and he spotted his daughter and the rest of his family gathered around the dinning room table. A smile split his face, happy to see his daughter, concern in the pit of his stomach at the sight of all her injuries (this being the worst he'd eve seen her since she joined the Wall), but his gladness of finally laying his gaze on her after over a year override that for this brief moment.

He set the bags on the counter and went over to her, wrapping his arms around her still seated, and carefully pulled her into his chest. She instantly melted into her father's arms. She was surrounded by him, enveloped in his strong and safe arms. No matter how old, how grown up, this was one thing in her life that would never change—that she would never let change.

"I missed you so much, daddy." She said against his shirt.

"Oh, me, too, baby, me too." He murmured into her hair, kissing the crown of her head. "Mmm."

Gods, she forgotten what real safety and security felt like. She didn't feel like she was anything but perfect in his arms, she didn't feel like a killer, soiled by the blood that would always stain her hands. She just felt like his Little Wolf.

"Ned?" Catelyn called from the driveway, "There's still a bunch of bags left."

"Robb, help your mother." Ned told his eldest son, and the man left the kitchen. He kissed his daughter a second time before he finally, reluctantly, pulled back. He looked down at her, cupping her face, pushing the bangs out of her eyes as she smiled softly back up at him. "How are you, sweetheart? Really?"

"I'm going to be okay, daddy." She whispered softly for only him to hear, "There were things that I had to do out there, but I'm coping—my body's going to need a but more time to heal, though."

"Good, girl." He kissed her forehead before he stepped back and finally looked over a Jon, a pleased look on his face. "Hello, Jon. It's finally nice to me you, Benjen's told me a lot about you—and Arya, too."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, sir." Jon told him respectfully as Robb came back, laden with even more bags.

"Just call me Ned, Jon. We're family now." Jon nodded and Ned gave his shoulder a light squeeze as he passed to meet his wife. "Honey," he took the box that she was carrying and set in on the floor.

Unable to spot Jon from where Ned stood blocking him, her gaze found something more precious. "Oh, Arya, dear, look at you!" Catelyn exclaimed as her eyes finally landed on her youngest and troublesome daughter. "What have they gotten you into this time?" she rushed over to the teen and rained kisses and worried/reassuring nothings on her.

"I'm going to be alright, ma!" Arya finally managed to gasp when Catelyn stood up. "Wha—who is this?" Catelyn asked, stopping in her tracks, startled as she spotted the injured young man—a stranger in her home.

"Cat, this is our nephew—Jon," Ned introduced them. "Benjen's son."

Ned smiled at Jon, stepping forward and shaking his hand again. "I just want to thank you for helping keep my daughter safe."

"Dad!" Arya protested in embarrassment.

"It was no problem, sir." Jon said firmly, not ready just yet to call him Uncle or Ned. "Arya was family to me long before we were actually family."

Ned gave a proud nod at that response and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Welcome to the family, son."

"Hey, Arya!" Rickon rushed into the kitchen, red unruly hair, bright face and bloody well taller than her now. "Look what mum let me get for not getting killed while running the course," and he held out his arm to show a squiggling black mixed-breed pup with brown highlights and amber eyes. "He's so hairy—I'm gonna call him Shaggydog!" he told the group excitedly, hugging the pup to his chest, laughing when it licked his chin.

"That's really cool, Rickon." Arya smiled at her little brother happily. She was so glad that nothing had gone wrong when he'd run and couldn't blame their mother for being so happy about it that she actually got the kid a dog—she just hoped that the woman would feel the same way two weeks for now when the puppy started to piss and shit in the house and tear up every left shoe in the house.

She could already see how attached Rickon was to the dog just after an hour—she knew the feeling. She still got pangs of regret and loss whenever she thought about Nymeria, the stray that she had brought home and hidden in her room, which then attacked her mum and Ned had to shoot it.

"We have ice-cream cake," Catelyn said. "Who want's some?"

The calls of agreement were more agreeable and enthusiastic than when Robb made them all mac and cheese, but he didn't seem to mind or notice for that matter.

"That went better than I thought," Arya whispered over to Bran, watching their mother carefully as she started getting plates and utensils out.

Bran looked dubious. "I think she’s still in shock. It’ll probably sink in fully a bit later, and than we’ll get the full episode."

Arya chuckled and shook her head. "You’re probably right. Hopefully, we’re not in the blast zone."

"That’s really comforting, you two!" Jon hissed over at them, overhearing. "You’re making it sound like she’d a live grenade."

"That’s because she is!" they told him in unison, grinning at his expression.

He nearly jumped ten feet into the air when a piece of said ice cream cake was placed in front of him, and Bran and Arya had a good laugh at his expense.

Gods, it was good to be home!

….

**Epilogue:**

….

It was almost a week later, that Bran had finally worn both Jon and Arya down into telling him what had happened during that month. It went unsaid that they shouldn't talk about the Wildling attack outside of the Wall, not until the whole thing was settled, but what was the harm in telling one kid? It wasn't like Bran didn't know about everything else—Arya having spared no detail when she wrote to him. She was going to keep her promise from all those years ago.

Jon and Bran had seemed to make fast-friends with each other, a record speed only beat-out by Arya and Jon's own friendship.

They were in Bran's room, formerly Robb's, the bedroom door shut so they could have their privacy—this was top secret stuff after all.

"Okay, so this is some classified shit," she leaned in and whispered to Bran conspiratorially, flashing Jon a playful grin next to her, "so don't go telling anybody, got it? or Jon and I might just have to kill you..."

 _-_ THE END _-  
_**********Game/of/Thrones********** __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Finally, finally, finally! I am finished this long-ass forsaken chapter! It sucked my soul dry, I swear. So, this is the end of The Wall Military Academy Trilogy. I had some good times, and bad (=major writer's block). But I feel a bit giddy and proud because this is my first fic that is 100,000 words or more! I know, I am seriously amazed with myself as well, lol. I never thought I would ever write a fic this long. Phewee!**
> 
> **PS. Please feel free (not obligated)[though I might hold you to it] to check out my prequel one-shot for this trilogy that's based off of Interlude, Chapter 1 Stark Notes. It was a memory that I was going to use for this, but it turned into more of what you'll read (because I'm holding you to it…] instead of what I actually put in this finale chapter. :) the bolded piece is actually taken from the one-shot.**
> 
> **Tilte:  
>  "THE WALL (MILITARY) ACADEMY TRILOGY:   
> EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!"**
> 
> **The Key:**
> 
> Bloody Gate = Is the State Penitentiary located in the city The Eyrie, where people committing capital crimes and people caught immigrating illegally and have committed a grave crime are imprisoned.  
> ~ This is where Rayder and the other Wildlings captured Wildlings will serve their criminal sentences.
> 
> Bear Island = is located in the Bay of Ice and home of the Seven Kingdoms' Immigration Depot. If a Wildling wants to become a citizen of the Seven Kingdoms, there information and request is passed from the Wall to Bear Island to be processed and filed, and either granted permanent residence, temporary access, or denied completely.  
> ~ A on-sight immigration officer stays at the Shadow Tower for when Wildlings do want passage into the Kingdoms.  
> ~If a Wildling comes to the Seven Kingdoms illegally they are sent back to beyond the Fence, but if they have committed a crime (while legally or illegally in the Kingdoms) they are sentenced to the Bloody Gate like all other major criminals.
> 
> Stark Notes:
> 
> _~ Chett and Thorne were made traitors that caused sabotage inside the Wall during the attack by the Wildlings.  
>  ~ Gendry was MIA for a bit, but returned.  
> ~ Arya killed 6 people (2 Half-breeds, 3 Wildlings, & 1 Bloody Crow), while it appears that Jon didn't have to kill anyone of his own (unless you counted the Wildling being impaled on the metal post), and Ghost took down 2 Half-breeds as well. [referenced chapters 9, 10, 11, 17, 21, 23, 24]  
> ~ The mystery is solved! After all this dancing around, it is finally confirmed that Jon is Benjen's father! Yaay! :)  
> ~ Arya used to only have one cousin, by her Aunt Lysa (on Catelyn's side, her younger sister). Robin is a sickly boy, about one-year younger than Bran. Arya only met him once when she about 5 and he was about 1. Now she has Jon as a cousin (Benjen's only son,) (on Ned's side, his younger brother). (Edmure, Catelyn's younger brother is married but currently has no children & Ned's older brother, Brandon, and younger sister, Lyanna, died young before they could have any children.)  
> ~ A ceremony was held and Arya and Jon (among other fourth-year soldiers) were promoted to full active duty in their respective fields and are now the rank of Sergeant/Master Corporal.  
> ~ Arya and Jon are both put on Medical Leave. Before, Arya would have been sent home to Winterfell, and Jon would stay at the Wall because he had no living family, but now that it's record that Benjen is his father, he's been allowed to go back to Winterfell with Arya to the Stark brownstone. (Talisa accompanied the pair because of their conditions and other Wall business).  
> ~ Robb and Talisa fall in love, a spark between them on their first meeting.  
> ~ Sansa is a model in the South, the city of High Garden, a Agency that is owned and run by a rich and known family, the Tyrells.  
> ~ Arya and Jon have to go to physiotherapy; Osha, the same therapist the Bran goes to see to keep his body from deteriorating from disuse. And are assisted as well by Hodor if needed._


	27. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a chapter, but an official KEY to the story in alphabetical order, and includes the Stark Notes in order of chapter.

Stark Notes:

PROLOGUE

~That had been Arya's first experience in the Beyond with Tanner alone. Is this just a peek into what other training the Skull King has in for her?

~Benjen got promoted to Lord Commander two-years when Mormont retired.

CHAPTER 1

~Despite the fact that Arya and Gendry are no longer partners, and the Bull now apprentices in the Armoury Shop, the two still share a sleep cell on the third floor of the Nightfort.

~ _Catelyn has a famous, awesome cookie recipe: it's a chocolate, oatmeal cookie with nuts and raisins mixed in, both yummy and healthy(?) (sounds pretty awesome, right?)[_ first mentioned in NWHS:tW(M)A chapter 7]

~ _When Bran turned fifeteen two-years ago and was made to run in the APA course like all the boys that age, he was gravely injured and now has no use of his legs._

~ Ygritte is a Wilding woman who had live north of the Beyond in a stretch of land before the Land of Always Winter, who came to the Wall and was accepted into service. Benjen had assigned her to be partners with Jon, and gave Arya Gendry. Arya has hated the woman ever since.

CHAPTER 2

~ Arya's always hated Ygritte. She was the reason why Jon wasn't her partner anymore, and after three-years, the teen still hasn't given up hope that one day, she will be partners with him once again. Now after what happened in the showers, Night Wolf isn't going to play easy any more.

CHAPTER 3

~ Tanner's specialty is close combat, his weapon of choice, knives and daggers. They are easy to conceal on the body, and brandish. He first learned to use these when he was a kid living on the streets of Gin Alley, the under-belly of the under-belly Flea Bottom to King's Landing. He's kept up the practise ever since.

~ Ygritte's codename is Fire Kissed

CHAPTER 4

~ Jon does tend to get a little mother-hennish when Arya gets injured, but can you blame him? He is her blood big brother after all, and she's his only family after Benjen that he has.

~ Arya uses Catelyn's cookies as a lure for Jon; it's the only time she gets to see him nowadays anymore. (she doesn’t mean to sound like a weirdo, luring in the young man with treats, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do; ya know?)

CHAPTER 5

~ Arya finally discovers a truth behind the Glowing Blue Eyes that she first encountered in her first trip into the Beyond four years ago with Jon, when they camped out in the small heart tree grove in the Haunted Forest.

~ Chett is no longer a Crow trainee, but was assigned to the K9 specialty unit of the Wall, training tracker hounds and attack dogs. (Fitting for the Pooch, huh?)

**~** _Arya discovers some trouble news while in a meeting with Ygritte, but what does this all mean for the future of the Wall?_

CHAPTER 7

~ Jon: 2300-0400 {Arya-sleeps}, Arya: 0500-1000 {Jon-sleeps}, Jon: 1100-1600, Arya: 1700-2200

~ Ghost is a albino, lone-wolf, that found its way into the Beyond while fleeing from another pack of grey wolves that were hunting it for food. It was injured, but Jon treated it against Arya's advice, before it took off again.

**~** _Arya likes maple smoked elk jerky._

CHAPTER 8

~ No storm like this has ever happened before, (unless you count the one thousands of years ago during the War of the Dawn...)

~ Did Arya really see Wights at the fence, or where her eyes just playing tricks on her.

~ All of Arya's frustrations had been building for about 3-years now (and apparently so have Jon's, if for a bit) and she can't hold her tongue anymore, probably unleashing her tongue at a rather inconvenient time; seeing as there are a group of Wights (or not) heading for them (or not). [confused? You're not alone... :[) ]

~Benjen informed both Arya and Jon about Ygritte and the Wildlings treachery, but strictly ordered them to discuss it with no one, least of all each other. Why?

CHAPTER 9

~ This was the first time that Arya had killed anything other than an animal, and with a gun as well.

 _~ Was this man really a Wilding, or was it something else, something that Arya always seems to encounter_ — _Glowing Blue Eyes._

~ Jon is finally ready to face the truth of things, after a unreasonable amount of doubts despite the truth being told to him and shown to him.

CHAPTER 10

~ Jon has been a little out of it since Arya confronted him about the truth about Ygritte, but after she convinces him that they need to go out and brave the storm and face the invaders, he seems to be coming back to his old-self.

_~ Arya has now killed two Wildlings and is slowly coming to a conclusion on exactly **what**_ _they really are._

CHAPTER 11

~ Arya comes to the conclusion that the Wildlings attacking her and Jon are actually a cross-breed between Wildlings (from a clan called the Ice-river clans that live right on the boarder of the Land of Always Winter) and the White Walkers [the glowing blue eyes being their dominant feature].

~ Ghost returns to the scene of their first meeting and saves both Jon and Arya's lives by taking out the third and fourth Wildling-White Walker half-breeds. It seems a returned favor for Jon giving it Arya's elk jerky during their first meeting about five days previous.

CHAPTER 12

~ Qhorin was promoted to from Lieutenant Colonel to Colonel and has taken the position of Second in Command of the Wall under Lord Commander Benjen Stark, but unlike his predecessor, he has continued his active roll in personally training Crow Recruits, i.e. Jon and Ygritte. He is an elite scout (Hawk) and soldier (Crow).

~ Karp & Joker are Crows; Firechip & Crash are Hawks.

~ Arya is Night Wolf; Jon is Lord Snow; Tanner is the Skull King; Qhorin if Grey Shadow.

~ Ygritte, in the Wildling Clans, is the daughter of the self-proclaimed King-in-the-North Mance Raider, on all accounts, a princess. And is currently being held captive by the Wall to use as a bargaining chip (perhaps).

~ Arya goes to the hold with the intent of putting Ygritte out of her own misery, but Jon steps in to defend the Wildling princess.

CHAPTER 13

~ Arya, Jon, Tanner and Qhorin head out beyond the Fence into the Neutral Zone with the Wildling princess as their prisoner and potential bargaining chip to end this war between the Wildlings and the Wall before it can truly begin, but are ambushed.

~ Qhorin and Tanner get separated from the trio during the attack and are currently MIA [missing in action] (not presumed dead).

~ Arya questioned Ygritte about her allegiance, but does not get a straight answer and the Wildling claims that she wasn't part of it, but Night Wolf is still suspicious.

CHAPTER 14

_~ Cut conversation between Arya and Benjen taken from_ "NORTH WINTER HIGH SCHOOL: THE WALL (MILITARY) ACADEMY _ : Interlude," chapter 10!: _

_"Anything can kill you at the Wall, this is what you signed up for when you accepted that recruitment. What do you think you will go through when all of your training is finish and you are put on assignment? Didn't you join the Wall to be in service? The Seven Kingdoms might not be as peaceful as they are right now, Arya. What if a war were to break out now and you were sent out into the field? What would happen? Would your courage take leave of you? Would bullet fever overcome you?" **  
** "Of course not!" _ She had told him firmly _. "I am not afraid."_  
"Then you have nothing to worry about with Tanner."  
"You tricked me!"   
"Whatever the Skull King puts you through now, will prepare you for the future—if such a war were to come." 

~ Arya and Jon have come to the decision that no matter their situation, when the blizzard finally ends, they are going to continue on with their mission: Find Mance Rayder and use Ygritte as a bargaining chip to end the Wildlings attack on the Wall before it can begin (if it hasn’t started already, that is).

~ Tanner and Qhorin are still missing in action (MIA), what could of happened to them? Are they still alive and just separated from the two young Crows? Did the Wildling hunting party capture, or even kill them?

CHAPTER 15

~ Jon seems to have gotten over any good-hearted lingering feelings he seemed to have for Ygritte.

~ The blizzard has past and the pair (+prisoner) move out, continuing on with their ROs mission. While making camp in a snow drift, Arya sees two figures approaching their position and has the hope that they might be her and Jon's missing mentors, but before she can find out, Ygritte managed to get free of her restraints and knocks both her and Jon out.

CHAPTER 16

 _~ Arya wakes up and finds herself held prisoner in the Wildling camp, alone in a tent, tied to a post_ — _with Jon missing._

~ Ygritte and Mance plan to use Arya and Jon to negotiate Benjen’s surrender, just like the Crows had been planning to use the Wildling princess.

~ In the midst of an escape attempt, Arya’s interrupted, but thankfully has enough time to cover it up.

CHAPTER 17

~ Qhorin was killed, and Mance Rayder put his head on display outside his tent, but how?

~ Arya and Jon escape their restraints, killed their guards and head one tent over to kill Mance Rayder, only to run into the last person they expected to find there, Lt. Karl 'the Skull King' Tanner! (what the fuck?! I know, right?) :)

CHAPTER 18

~ Tanner seems to have killen Qhorin and defected to the Wildlings, and forcing Arya into the bargain. Is it just a play? Or is he truly a traitor?

~ And Jon, had he really been under Ygritte's thumb all this time? Or has this been a plan of Benjen's all along?

~ Looks like Arya is in a sea of enemies and traitors. But who is really a traitor and who isn't?

CHAPTER 19

 _~ Tanner (playing both sides) intends to kill the Wildling King, Princess, and Second-in-Command, and take control of the army meeting at the Frost Fangs, north of the Fence, to attack the Wall_ — _but if he actually intends to continue on with the crusade is still a mystery._

 _~ Jon, in a secret operation with Benjen and Qhorin, tricked the Wildlings (Ygritte), into believe that he had come over onto their side, when in fact, he is strongly aligned with the Wall_ — _with Arya left out of the loop until now as the attack is closing in._

CHAPTER 20

 _~ Tanner attempts his take-over of the Wildling camp, but holds off with some unforeseen circumstance’s arrival, but Arya has no such quarrel with still killing Ygritte_ — _but her eagerness backfires in her face._

CHAPTER 21

~ The Wildlings have all gathered at the Frost Fangs, with their King now among them, the attack on the Wall is immanent. What is Benjen’s own plan of attack on the Wildlings? Will Arya and Jon make it to safety?

CHAPTER 22

~ Ghost returns to Jon and Arya once more when they are in a time of need and saves their asses, again. That elk jerky really must have done something for the albino, didn't it?

~ It appears that the itch between Arya's shoulder blades wasn't just from Ghost following them, but Ygritte tracking them as well. And just when Arya believes that the two of the were safe in that cave, it appears to have trapped them with the enemy instead.

CHAPTER 23

~ Arya finally is able to kill Ygritte after three-years (with the help of Jon, of course), but she got to do the finishing blow. [after all this, I really had to give Arya this bit of pleasure after all the shit she went through because of the Wildling woman].

 _~ So, we finally find out the truth that Jon really did sleep with Ygritte_ — _but only for the sake of the mission, though he might've fallen just a bit in love with her it appears._

CHAPTER 24

 _~ After allowing themselves a few days to recover after their encounter with Ygritte in the cave, and any amount of shit beforehand, Jon and Arya finally leave to cave and re-enter the 'real world' and see what fait has befallen the Wall from the Wildling attack_ — _but not before a encounter with Arya's turn cloak mentor, Tanner_ — _one that has grave consequences._

CHAPTER 25/Epilogue

~ Chett and Thorne were made traitors that caused sabotage inside the Wall during the attack by the Wildlings.

~ Gendry was MIA for a bit, but returned.

~ Arya killed 6 people (2 Half-breeds, 3 Wildlings, & 1 Bloody Crow), while it appears that Jon didn't have to kill anyone of his own (unless you counted the Wildling being impaled on the metal post), and Ghost took down 2 Half-breeds as well. [ **referenced chapters 9, 10, 11, 17, 21, 23, 24** ]

~ The mystery is solved! After all this dancing around, it is finally confirmed that Jon is Benjen's father! Yaay! :)

~ Arya used to only have one cousin, by her Aunt Lysa (on Catelyn's side, her younger sister). Robin is a sickly boy, about one-year younger than Bran. Arya only met him once when she about 5 and he was about 1. Now she has Jon as a cousin (Benjen's only son,) (on Ned's side, his younger brother). (Edmure, Catelyn's younger brother is married but currently has no children & Ned's older brother, Brandon, and younger sister, Lyanna, died young before they could have any children.)

~ A ceremony was held and Arya and Jon (among other fourth-year soldiers) were promoted to full active duty in their respective fields and are now the rank of Sergeant/Master Corporal.

~ Arya and Jon are both put on Medical Leave. Before, Arya would have been sent home to Winterfell, and Jon would stay at the Wall because he had no living family, but now that it's record that Benjen is his father, he's been allowed to go back to Winterfell with Arya to the Stark brownstone. (Talisa accompanied the pair because of their conditions and other Wall business).

~ Robb and Talisa fall in love, a spark between them on their first meeting.

~ Sansa is a model in the South, the city of High Garden, a Agency that is owned and run by a rich and known family, the Tyrells.

~ Arya and Jon have to go to physiotherapy; Osha, the same therapist the Bran goes to see to keep his body from deteriorating from disuse. And are assisted as well by Hodor if needed.

 _*_  
**********Game/of/Thrones********  
*  
THE WALL MILITARY ACADEMY ww,w &w INDEX**

/#/

/A/

 **Athletic Proficiency Assessment or APA =** the physical course test that grades each boy in high school from the age 15 to 18 in order to see if they are fit for the Wall Academy, or other such professions such as police, fireman, athlete; by order of the President with the leaders of the Military since the Wall first became a training facility thousands of years ago _.  
~ Three years ago, females were allowed to volunteer for the course and have a chance to be recruited to the Wall by a Wandering Crow._

/B/

 **Bear Island** = is located in the Bay of Ice and home of the Seven Kingdoms' Immigration Depot. If a Wildling wants to become a citizen of the Seven Kingdoms, there information and request is passed from the Wall to Bear Island to be processed and filed, and either granted permanent residence, temporary access, or denied completely.  
~ _A on-sight immigration officer stays at the Shadow Tower for when Wildlings do want passage into the Kingdoms.  
~If a Wildling comes to the Seven Kingdoms illegally they are sent back to beyond the Fence, but if they have committed a crime (while legally or illegally in the Kingdoms) they are sentenced to the Bloody Gate like all other major criminals._

 **The Beyond =** The Beyond is a area that is as controlled as the military could make. It was 300 miles in length, 150 miles in width; the area just after the Wall's northern side and the area before the start of the Land of Always Winter. Fenced off, and complete with hundreds of hidden cameras to monitor the recruits' drills. The land consisted of a small mountain rang called the Frost Fangs, on the farthest upper West side; dense forest called the Haunted Forest, chocked with fog, laying on the length along the Wall; and covering the northern east of the Beyond was a cold, windy tundra covered in snow and ice; a river that ran through the middle, branching off into the West and East and lay frozen over in the tundra but not the forest. Of course, there were wild animals that still roamed, like mountain cats in the Frost Fangs, moose and the like in the Haunted Forest, and polar bears and mammoths in the snow tundra—controlled as it could be, it was still dangerous.  
~ _First-years study the Beyond, but it's not until cadets become second-years that they start doing [survival] training in the Beyond._

 **The Bloody Crows =** A black ops. unit that does that dark and dirty for the Wall, all missions held in the strictest classifieds. Technically, they were disbanded. They worked in the shadows, and there work was bloody.  
~ _This was the field unit which that Tanner was assigned with before he became one of the best Crow Instructors at the Wall._

 **Bloody Gate** = Is the State Penitentiary located in the city The Eyrie, where people committing capital crimes and people caught immigrating illegally and have committed a grave crime are imprisoned.  
~ _This is where Rayder and the other Wildlings captured Wildlings will serve their criminal sentences._

 **Blue Moss =** In some of the caves in the Frost Fangs, a blue (slightly/softly glowing) moss grows on the moist cave walls, where different types of heated pools of water lie. It appears that this moss is not toxic at all, but edible and has a type of healing prowess.

 **Brandon's Gift =** The section of land closest to the Wall was called so after Brandon Builder, the creator of the Wall, and section nearest the freeway. It held all the housing for the officers, barracks for the first-, second-, and third-year recruits [the fourth-year recruits housed in the Nightfort tower at the Wall in their double sleep cells/the partners from their third-year], the mess hall, the bathhouses, laundry facilities, storage, wreck rooms, and gardens.

/C/

 **Craster's Keep =** Is a small, laid out village that was built in the New Gift to do gun drills, such as infantry. Built in with board targets and soft targets, cameras, and a platform built above the roofless course for the instructor to watch the exercise.

/D/

/E/

/F/

 **The Fence** = Separating the Beyond from the Land of Always Winter and the scattered Wilding encampments. A double reinforced fence that extends the whole 300 miles from west to east, through tundra and the a gorge cut through the Frost Fangs, not in a complete straight line. It extends upward to 100 feet tall, barbed wired, with the top jutting outwards at a 75° angle (to help prevent climbers). There are security cameras and manned guard towers at intervals that all report back to Shadow Tower, (the main security hub of the Wall). It also has a localized electrical current that runs through it when movement it spotted beyond the fence (eyes/motion detectors). But it is not an indefinite security measure.

 **The Fence (2) =** The Fences electrical current and security lights run on separate power junctions. Each post has a security light posted at the very top, boundary indicator lights, and coded markings to indicated exactly where along the Fence was located. The Fence was anchored beneath the frozen snow about 10-feet

 **Frost Fangs =** Is a small mountain range located in the north-western quadrant of the Beyond. It has caves scattered all around, and some (usually the lower caves at the foot of the mountains), like the one that Jon had first discovered with Samwell Tarly, had a small hot spring in it, its wall covered in strange blue glowing moss. There is some runoff underground and that is why there is a river at the foot of the Fangs in the first place, and the reason why it’s not completely frozen solid.

 **Frost Fangs (2) =** Located on the upper west side of the Beyond, the Fangs have a natural gorge cutting through the mountains almost in line with the Fence, but the range continues on in the west side of the Neutral Zone and extends northward, almost to the boarder of the Land of Always Winter.

/G/

 **"Glowing Blue Eyes"/Wights =** These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the groove of the weir wood/heart tree.

 **Gates/Passages to the Beyond =** Queensgate, Stonedoor, and Rimegate act as gates or passages to the Beyond. The also hold storage, gear, and terrain vehicles for the training in the Beyond and Watch at the Fence.

/H/

 **Hawk =** The Night's Watch camouflage and reconnaissance/intelligence gathering unit commanded out of the Shadow Tower, lead and commanded Ranger Denys Mallister.

 **Hound Command or "Hound Duty" =** The Wall has a special K9 unit that trains hounds for tracking and attack dogs that can work in Night's Watch units.

/I/

/J/

/K/

/L/

 **The Land of Always Winter (LoAW)=** This is what lays after the Beyond (the fenced in training area), it is the land where the White Walkers came from to invade the Seven Kingdoms before it became the Seven Kingdoms, and where they were driven back to at the end of the Long Night and War of the Dawn, and have not been seen since.  
**_~_** _The Wildlings live in the area that is between the Beyond and the Land of Always Winter.  
~Any man that ventures out into the LoAW, never returns. Up until this day, the area still goes unmapped/charted._

 **The Library =** The Library if located at the Shower Tower. It is mighty and filled with vast history books on all of Westeros and the Wall, and the Wall ledgers dating back to the start when the Wall first became a Military Depot. It also holds declassified mission reports/statements and such.

/M/

/N/

 **'Neutral Zone' =** The space where the Wildling Clans made their home, the space after the Wall's Beyond and before the boarder of the Land of Always Winter.

 **New Gift =** Nearest the King's Road is called so for the land was given to the Wall more recently a couple thousand years ago. It holds the parking lot, receiving area for new recruits, medical, in/out buildings and most of the on-grounds training facilities such as the shooting range and Hell's Lane.

 **Nightfort tower =** This is the tower at the Wall that houses all the forth-year corporals, along with their assigned ranking officers. There is a small shower and toilet facility located on the first floor, where the RO cells are also located (it is mostly used by them/the corporals usually just go to the bath house in Brandon's Gift on the Eastside). [This used to be the main headquarters back in the old days when the Wall was just starting out, but it wasn’t big enough so the built Castle Black as a replacement.]

/O/

/P/

**PT Course or Hell's Lane =** Twenty tires at the start. A 40-foot pit that had randomly scattered podiums the length of it that have to be jumped to with a surface area of 8x8 inch; at the bottom of the pit was slimy water, if you fell in, you had to swim to the edge and pull yourself out by a knotted rope. 20 foot high wall, climbed by rope. Once you reach to top of the wall, you're to leap to 5 horizontal beams 5 feet apart. From the beams is the rope swing. Then the belly crawl in a shallow pit of mud and rotting animal parts, 30 centimetres above you is real barbed wire. A 30 foot balance beam. Then a 5 mile run. All this has to be done under the time limit of 40 minutes.

/Q/

/R/

 **Ranking Officer or RO =** Is what Tanner is to Arya. Her ranking, commanding Crow officer. He is like her up-graded drill sergeant.

/S/

 **Shadow Tower =** The post laid at the very western of the Wall. Command center for the Hawks and acted as the main information and security station of the Wall. This is also where the library is located.

 **Simulation-bullets aka Sim-bullets =** Sim-bullets are used in all training exercises like those in Craster's Keep and are made in the Armoury Shop. Made from a thin alloy, they act like real bullets, fired from real gun. They disintegrate or 'splat' upon impact, their tips filled with coloured paint. Despite not being real bullets, they inflicted pain that is very much genuine. If used corrected or incorrectly, they could cause: welting, bruising, crack a rib, spotted bleeding, knock the breath out of you, knock you out—and in a few cases, even kill you. Sim-bullets may not be metal, but they could still kill you.

 **Slop Duty =** Can be another form of punishment for recruits, it's the even more gruelling task of cleaning the kitchen and dishes after a meal. Washing hundreds of dishes, pots, pans, silverware, and taking out the remains, and then taking the veggie peelings all the way to the Garden and Greenhouse to use as compost.

 **Spud Duty =** As punishment, cadets are sent to the kitchens to help with the painstaking prep work for the coming meal; such as peeling and chopping all the veggies, like potatoes, yams, etc.

/T/

/U/

/V/

/W/

 **The Wall =** Thousands of years ago it was a defence against the White Walkers, an invading and savage race, but has long turned into the top military recruitment training depot and base in Westeros. It takes on the top students who run the APA course, and trains the recruits for four-years before they become official officers of the Sworn Brothers.  
_~_ The Military has complete control over itself, not the President of the Seven Kingdoms.  
~ While the Wall is independent from Westeros, they need the President to implement these such actions on the Country. Such as: the APA course etc.  
~It's rival is the Military outlet across the Narrow Sea that train soldiers called the Unsullied.

 **Watch Duty =** Sentinel duty in the watchtowers located at the Fence that are manned always by a two-man team. It doesn’t matter if you’re a General Officer, Crow, Hawk, or Gull, if you are a few-years into your fourth-year training, then you can pull this duty. A week-long gig per shift. It can take from two-to-five days travel across the Beyond to get to your designated post by vehicle, made easier by the three different gates along the Wall. 

**Watchtower =** The tower is 50-feet tall in total. On ground level is the 'garage' to park the vehicles, a bricked in space with a sheet metal gate with lock, 20(w)x22(l)x11(h) feet, and a kennel attached to it. Above that is a fortified safe-room/prisoner-hold, 20(w)x22(l)x12(h) feet. Above that on the 3rd floor was the storage room to hold all the supplies; food, guns, ammo, etcetera; 20(w)x22(l)x10(h) feet. And on the forth floor was the watchroom, 20(w)x22(l)x17(h) feet, with a balcony lookout. There was a zigzagging set of stairs on the outside wall of the tower that led to the 3rd-floor and no further, from the 3rd you could climb a ladder to the 4th or through the hidden door to the 2nd; on the 4th there is access through a trapdoor to the roof via notches in the wall. There is a pulley-rig that can be set-up/dismantled from the 4th. And all sets of hidden triggers/passages and such. Power in the watchtower is run by wind-turbine/solar-panels, and has an emergency/contact-line to the Shadow Tower were something to happen, and trigger alarms for the towers designated 'zone'.

 **Watchtower(2) =** The watchtower is powered by a wind turbine located on top of the roof as well as a set of (black) solar panels. They are placed at the right angle to catch the sun at its longest point in the sky directly above. They store the energy of the sun as well take a minimal heat that melts any snow that might pile up on them. The roof also has narrow, flat planes on it to easier travel the snowy recesses.

 **The Weirwood or Heart Tree =** The heart tree is a sacred growth and thing of worship of the Old Gods of the Forest. Long ago, when the Andals landed on Westeros and implemented their religion of the Seven, they tore out and desecrated most of the weirwood trees of worship. Few survived, all in the North. Now, in this present day, they are mostly depicted in history books and in museums. The Beyond is the sight of one of the last heart trees.

 **White Walkers =** A savage and secluded race of people that live in the northern most region of Westeros called the Land of Always Winter. Thousand of years ago, they tried to invade the south, but failed, and were driven back to their land and the Wall was erected. They have not been seen since and are talked of as a dead race. They are a tall people, 6-ft +, have sharp blue eyes and blondish-white long hair.

 **Wights or "Glowing Blue Eyes" (nicknamed so by Arya) =** These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the grove of the weir wood/heart tree.

 **Wildlings =** They are the free people that do not answer to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms or the Rule of the President. They are stationed in the section between The Beyond which is claimed by the Wall, and the Land of Always which has forever gone unexplored/unmapped by the people of the Seven Kingdoms. The are essentially a cult—a self-identified group of people who share a narrowly defined interest or perspective, outcasts, governed by their own laws not acknowledge by the President. They are strictly believers of the Old Gods of the Forest. Some Wildlings wish to enter the Seven Kingdoms and become permanent citizens. If some can not get through, they try to bypass the official process and enter the Kingdoms illegally, often times by boat through the Bay of Ice or Bay of Seals, bypassing the sea-patrols on the water and docking at the nearest ports that are lax in their checking of papers.

 **Wildlings(2) =** A small pocket of separated clans called the Ice-river clans live northern-most of all the other Clans, right at the boarder of the Land of Always Winter. They are hated and despised (and avoided) because they partake in cannibalism; sometimes each other, but mostly other Wildlings from the other Clans. It appears that they are breeding with White Walkers, creating half-breeds with glowing blue eyes.

/X/

/Y/

/Z/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end people. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. Thanks to all of you who have read, and who took the time to leave a review, it was much appreciated. And no, this is not a guilt trip to those of you who haven't reviewed, you know who you are... :)

**Author's Note:**

> How do you like the start so far? I know that you're all wondering what the fucking stories are about Tanner's code/nickname are, but I'll leave that to y'allz imaginations! Please review!
> 
> The Key:
> 
> The Wall = Thousands of years ago it was a defence against the White Walkers, an invading and savage race, but has long turned into the top military recruitment training depot and base in Westeros. It takes on the top students who run the APA course, and trains the recruits for four-years before they become official officers of the Sworn Brothers.  
> ~The Military has complete control over itself, not the President of the Seven Kingdoms.  
> ~ While the Wall is independent from Westeros, they need the President to implement these such actions on the Country. Such as: the APA course etc.  
> ~It's rival is the Military outlet across the Narrow Sea that train soldiers called the Unsullied.
> 
> Ranking Officer or RO = Is what Tanner is to Arya. Her ranking, commanding Crow officer. He is like her up-graded drill sergeant.
> 
> The Beyond = The Beyond is a area that is as controlled as the military could make. It was 300 miles in length, 150 miles in width; the area just after the Wall's northern side and the area before the start of the Land of Always Winter. Fenced off, and complete with hundreds of hidden cameras to monitor the recruits' drills. The land consisted of a small mountain rang called the Frost Fangs, on the farthest upper West side; dense forest called the Haunted Forest, chocked with fog, laying on the length along the Wall; and covering the northern east of the Beyond was a cold, windy tundra covered in snow and ice; a river that ran through the middle, branching off into the West and East and lay frozen over in the tundra but not the forest. Of course, there were wild animals that still roamed, like mountain cats in the Frost Fangs, moose and the like in the Haunted Forest, and polar bears and mammoths in the snow tundra—controlled as it could be, it was still dangerous.
> 
> The Bloody Crows = A black ops. unit that does the dark and dirty for the Wall, all missions held in the strictest classifieds. Technically, they were disbanded. They worked in the shadows, and the work was bloody.
> 
> Simulation-bullets aka Sim-bullets = Sim-bullets are used in all training exercises like those in Craster's Keep and are made in the Armoury Shop. Made from a thin alloy, they act like real bullets, fired from real gun. They disintegrate or 'splat' upon impact, their tips filled with coloured paint. Despite not being real bullets, they inflicted pain that is very much genuine. If used corrected or incorrectly, they could cause: welting, bruising, crack a rib, spotted bleeding, knock the breath out of you, knock you out—and in a few cases, even kill you. Sim-bullets may not be metal, but they could still kill you. 
> 
> Glowing Blue Eyes = These belong to an old creature that comes from The Land of Always Winter. One that hasn't been seen since the Long Night and War of the Dawn, creatures under the control of long unseen and largely forgotten White Walkers. It cannot enter the groove of the weir wood/heart tree.
> 
> The Weirwood or Heart Tree = The heart tree is a sacred growth and thing of worship of the Old Gods of the Forest. Long ago, when the Andals landed on Westeros and implemented their religion of the Seven, they tore out and desecrated most of the weirwood trees of worship. Few survived, all in the North. Now, in this present day, they are mostly depicted in history books and in museums. The Beyond is the sight of one of the last heart trees.
> 
> Stark Notes:  
> ~That had been Arya's first experience in the Beyond with Tanner alone. Is this just a peek into what other training the Skull King has in for her?  
> ~Benjen got promoted to Lord Commander two-years when Mormont retired.   
> Thanks for Reading!


End file.
